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THIRTY POEMS 



WILLIAM CULLEN BKYANT 

'I 



NEW TOEK: 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 

443 & 445 BROADWAY. 



16 LITTLE BRITAIN. 
M.DCCC.LXIV. 



$u^ 



oof/ 



>, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 
Southern District of New York. 



TO THE KEADER. 



The author has attempted no other classifi- 
cation of the poems in this volume than that of 
allowing them to follow each other according 
to the order of time in which they were writ- 
ten. It has seemed to him that this arrange- 
ment is as satisfactory as any other, since, at 
different periods of life, an author's style and 
habits of thought may be supposed to undergo 
very considerable modifications. One poem 



4 TO THE BEADEE. 

forms an exception to tMs order of succession, 
and should have appeared in an earlier collec- 
tion. Three others have abeadj appeared in 
an illustrated edition of the author's poems. 

New York, December^ 1863. 



CONTENTS. 



Poems. Page 

The Planting of the Apple Tree, ... 9 

The Snow Shower, 14 

A Eain Dream, 18 

Kobert of Lincoln, ...... 23 

The Twenty-Seventh of March, ... 28 

An Invitation to the Country, .... 32 

Song for New- Year's Eve, . . . . 85 

The Wind and Stream, 38 

The Lost Bird. — From the Spanish of Carolina 

Coronado, 40 

The Fight Journey of a Eiver, ... 43 



6 CONTENTS. 

Poems. Page 

The Life that Is, 49 

Song. — " These Prairies Glow with Flowers," 53 

ASick-Bed, 55 

The Song of the Sower, 59 

The New and the Old, 70 

The Cloud on the Way, 73 

The Tides, 78 

Italy, 81 

A Day Dream, 85 

The Euins of Italica. — ^From the Spanish of Rioja, 90 

Waiting by the Gate, 96 

Not Yet, ....... 101 

Our Country's Call, 104 

The Constellations, 108 

The Third of November, 1861, . . .112 

The Mother's Hymn, 116 

Sella, 118 

The Fifth Book of Homer's Odyssey.— Transla- 
ted, 150 

The Little People of the Snow, . . .184 

The Poet, ....... 207 

Notes, 211 



POEMS. 



THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE TKEE. 

Come, let us plant the apple tree. 
Cleave the tough greensward with the spade; 
Wide let its hollow bed be made ; 
There gently lay the roots, and there 
Sift the dark mould with kindly care. 

And press it o'er them tenderly, 
As, round the sleeping infant's feet 
We softly fold the cradle sheet ; 

So plant we the apple tree. 

What plant we in this apple tree ? 
Buds, which the breath of summer days 
Shall lengthen into leafy sprays ; 
1* 



10 P0EM8. 

Boughs where the thrush, with crimson breast, 
Shall haunt and sing and hide her nest ; 

We plant, upon the sunny lea, 
A shadow for the noontide hour, 
A shelter from the summer shower, 

When we plant the apple tree. 

What plant we in this apple tree ? 
Sweets for a hundred flowery springs, 
To load the May-wind's restless wings, 
When, from the orchard row, he pours 
Its fragrance through our open doors ; 

A world of blossoms for the bee, 
Flowers for the sick girl's silent room, 
For the glad infant sprigs of bloom. 

We plant with the apple tree. 

What plant we in this apple tree ? 
Fruits that shall swell, in sunny June, 
And redden in the August noon. 



THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE TREE. 11 

And drop, when gentle airs come by, 
That fan the blue September sky, 

While children come, with cries of glee, 
And seek them where the fragrant grass 
Betrays their bed to those who pass, 

At the foot of the apple tree. 

And when, above this apple tree. 
The winter stars are quivering bright. 
And winds go howling through the night. 
Girls, whose yoang eyes o'erflow with mii'th, 
Shall peel its fruit by cottage hearth. 

And guests in prouder homes shall see, 
Heaped with the grape of Cintra's vine, 
And golden orange of the line. 

The fruit of the apple tree. 

The fruitage of this apple tree 
"Winds, and our flag of stripe and star 
Shall bear to coasts that lie afar, 



12 POEMS. 

Where men shall wonder at the view, 
And ask in what fair groves they grew ; 

And sojourners beyond the sea 
Shall think of childhood's careless day, 
And long, long hours of summer play, 

In the shade of the apple tree. 

Each year shall give this apple tree 
A. broader flush of roseate bloom, 
A deeper maze of verdurous gloom. 
And loosen, when the frost-clouds lower. 
The crisp brown leaves in thicker shower. 

The years shall come and pass, but we 
Shall hear no longer, where we lie, 
The summer's songs, the autumn's sigh, 

In the boughs of the apple tree. 

And time shall waste this apple tree. 
Oh, when its aged branches throw 
Thin shadows on the ground below, 



THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE TREE. 13 

Shall fraud and force and iron will 
Oppress tlie weak and helpless still ? 

What shall the tasks of mercy be, 
Amid the toils, the strifes, the tears 
Of those who live when length of years, 

Is wasting this apple tree ? 

" Who planted this old apple tree ? " 
The children of that distant day 
Thus to some aged man shall say ; 
And gazing on its mossy stem, 
The gray-haired man shall answer them : 

" A poet of the land was he, 
Born in the rude but good old times ; 
'Tis said he made some quaint old rhymes 
On planting the apple tree." 



THE SNOW-SHOWER. 

STAiifD here by mj side and tnm, I pray, 
On the lake below thy gentle eyes ; 

The clouds hang over it, heavy and gray, 
And dark and silent the water lies ; 

And ont of that frozen mist the snow 

In wavering flakes begins to flow ; 

Flake after flake, 

They sink in the dark and silent lake. 

See how in a living swarm they come 

From the chambers beyond that misty veil 

Some hover awhile in air, and some 
Eush prone from the sky like summer hail. 



THE SNOW-SHOWER. 15 

All, dropping swiftly or settling slow, 
Meet, and are still in the depths below ; 

Flake after flake 
Dissolved in the dark and silent lake. 



Here delicate snow-stars, out of the cloud. 

Come floating downward in airy play, 
Like spangles dropped from the glistening 
crowd 
That whiten by night the milky way ; 
There broader and burlier masses fall ; 
The sullen water buries them all — 

Flake after flake — 
All drowned in the dark and silent lake. 



And some, as on tender wings they glide 
From their chilly birth-cloud, dim and gray, 

Are joined in their fall, and, side by side. 
Come clinging along their unsteady way ; 



16 POEMS. 

As friend with friend, or husband with wife 
Makes hand in hand the passage of life ; 

Each mated flake 
Soon sinks in the dark and silent lake. 

Lo ! while we are gazing, in swifter haste 

Stream down the snows, till the air is white, 
As, myriads by myriads madly chased, 
They fling themselves from their shadowy 
height. 
The fair, frail creatures of middle sky, 
What speed they make, with their grave so 
nigh; 

Flake after flake, 
To lie in the dark and silent lake ! 



I see in thy gentle eyes a tear ; 

They turn to me in sorrowful thought ; 
Thou thinkest of friends, the good and dear, 

Who were for a time and now are not ; 



THE SNOW-BHOWEK. 17 

Like these fair children of cloud and frost, 
That glisten a moment and then are lost, 

Flake after flake — 
All lost in the dark and silent lake. 

Yet look again, for the clouds divide ; 

A gleam of blue on the water lies ; 
And far away, on the mountain-side, 

A sunbeam falls from the opening skies. 
But the hurrying host that flew between 
The cloud and the water, no more is seen ; 

Flake after flake. 
At rest in the dark and silent lake. 



A EAIlSr DEEAM. 

These strifes, these tumiilts of the noisy world, 
Where Fraud, the coward, tracks his prey by 

stealth. 
And Strength, the ruffian, glories in his guilt, 
Oppress the heart with sadness. Oh, my friend, 
In what serener mood we look upon 
The gloomiest aspects of the elements 
Among the woods and fields ! Let us awhile, 
As the slow wind is rolling up the storm, 
In fancy leave this maze of dusty streets. 
For ever shaken by the importunate jar 
Of commerce, and upon the darkening air 
Look from the shelter of our rural home. 



A RAIN DEE AM. 19 

Who is not awed that listens to the Rain, 
Sending his voice before him ? Mighty Rain ! 
The upland steeps are shrouded by thy mists ; 
Thy shadow fills the hollow vale ; the pools 
'No longer glimmer, and the silvery streams 
Darken to veins of lead at thy approach. 
Oh, mighty Rain ! already thou art here ; 
And every roof is beaten by thy streams, 
And, as thou passest, every glassy spring 
Grows rough, and every leaf in all the woods 
Is struck, and quivers. All the hill-tops slake 
Their thirst from thee ; a thousand languishing 

fields, 
A thousand fainting gardens, are refreshed ; 
A thousand idle rivulets start to speed. 
And with the graver murmur of the storm 
Blend their light voices as they hurry on. 

Thou fill'st the circle of the atmosphere 
Alone ; there is no living thing abroad, 
No bird to wing the air nor beast to walk 
The field : the squirrel in the forest seeks 



20 POEMS. 

His hollow tree ; the marmot of the field 
Has scampered to his den ; the butterfly- 
Hides under her broad leaf ; the insect crowds 
That made the sunshine populous, lie close 
In their mysterious shelters, whence the sun 
Will summon them again. The mighty Eain 
Holds the vast empire of the sky alone. 

I shut my eyes, and see, as in a dream. 
The friendly clouds drop down spring violets 
And summer columbines, and all the flowers 
That tuft the woodland floor, or overarch 
The streamlet : — spiky grass for genial June, 
Brown harvests for the waiting husbandman, 
And for the woods a deluge of fresh leaves. 

I see these myriad drops that slake the dust. 
Gathered in glorious streams, or rolling blue 
In billows on the lake or on the deep 
And bearing navies. I behold them change 
To threads of crystal as they sink in earth 
And leave its stains behind, to rise again 
In pleasant nooks of verdure, where the child, 



A KAIN DREAM. 21 

Thirsty with play, in both his little hands 
Shall take the cool, clear water, raising it 
To wet his pretty lips. To-morrow noon 
How proudly will the water-lily ride 
The brimming pool, o'erlooking, like a queen, 
Her circle of broad leaves. In lonely wastes. 
When next the sunshine makes them beautiful, 
Gay troops of butterflies shall light to drink 
At the replenished hollows of the rock. 

Now slowly falls the dull blank night, and 

still. 
All through the starless hours, the mighty Kain 
Smites with perpetual sound the forest leaves, 
And beats the matted grass, and still the earth 
Drinks the unstinted bounty of the clouds — 
Drinks for her cottage wells, her woodland 

brooks — 
Drinks for the springing trout, the toiling bee 
And brooding bird — drinks for her tender 

flowers, ■ 
Tall oaks, and all the herbage of her hills. 



22 POEMS. 

A melanclioly sound is in the air, 
A deep sigli in the distance, a shrill wail 
Around my dwelling. 'Tis the wind of night ; 
A lonely wanderer between earth and cloud, 
In the black shadow and the chilly mist. 
Along the streaming mountain side, and 

through 
The dripping woods, and o'er the plashy fields, 
Roaming and sorrowing still, like one who 

makes 
The journey of life alone, and nowhere meets 
A welcome or a friend, and still goes on 
In darkness. Yet awhile, a little while, 
And he shall toss the glittering leaves in play, 
And dally with the flowers, and gaily lift 
The slender herbs, pressed low by weight of 

rain. 
And drive, in joyous triumph, through the sky, 
White clouds, the laggard remnants of the 

storm. 



EGBERT OF LINCOLIST. 

MejRrily swinging on briar and weed, 
IN'ear to the nest of his little dame, 
Over the mountain-side or mead, 
Robert of Lincoln is telKng his name : 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-Hnk, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Snug and safe is that nest of ours, 
Hidden among the summer flowers. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Robert of Lincoln is gaily drest, 

"Wearing a bright black wedding coat ; 

White are his shoulders and white his crest, 
Hear him call in his merry note : 



24: POEMS. 

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 

Spink, spank, spink ; 
Look, wliat a nice new coat is mine. 
Sure there was never a bird so fine. 
Cbee, cbee, chee. 

Eobert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, 

Pretty and quiet, with, plain brown wings, 
Passing at home a patient life. 

Broods in the grass while her husband sings 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Brood, kind creature ; you need not fear 
Thieves and robbers while I am here. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Modest and shy as a nun is she ; 

One weak chirp is her only note. 
Braggart and prince of braggarts is he, 

Pouring boasts from his little throat : 



ROBERT OF LINCOLN. 25 

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 

Spink, spank, spink ; 
Never was I afraid of man ; 
Catcli me, cowardly knaves, if you can. 
Chee, chee, cliee. 

Six wHte eggs on a bed of hay. 

Flecked witb pnrple, a pretty sight ! 
There as the mother sits all day, 

Robert is singing with all his might : 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Nice, good wife, that never goes out. 
Keeping house while I frolic about. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Soon as the little ones chip the shell 
Six wide mouths are open for food ; 

Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, 
Gathering seeds for the hungry brood. 
2 



26 POEMS. 

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 

Spink, spank, spink ; 
This new life is likely to be 
Hard for a gay young fellow like me. 
Chee, cbee, cbee. 

Kobert of Lincoln at length is made 

Sober with work, and silent with care ; 
Off is his holiday garment laid, 
Half forgotten that merry air, 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Nobody knows but my mate and I 
Where our nest and our nestlings lie. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Summer wanes ; the children are grown ; 

Fun and frolic no more he knows ; 
Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum croUe ; 

Off he flies, and we sing as he goes : 



BOBERT OF LINCOLN. 27 

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 

Spink, spank, spink ; 
When you can pipe that merry old strain, 
Eobert of Lincohi, come back again. 
Chee, chee, chee. 



THE TWENTY-SEYENTH OF MAECH. 

Oh, gentle one, thy birthday sun shonld rise 
Amid a chorus of the merriest birds 
That ever sang the stars out of the sky 
In a June morning. Rivulets should send 
A voice of gladness from their winding paths, 
Deep in o'erarching grass, where playful winds, 
Stirring the loaded stems should shower the, 

dew 
Upon the glassy water. Newly blown 
Eoses, by thousands, to the garden walks 
Should tempt the loitering moth and diligent 

bee. 
The longest, brightest day in all the year 



THE TWENTY-SEVENTH OF MABOH. 29 

Should be the day on which thy cheerful eyes 
First opened on the earth, to make thy haunts 
Fairer and gladder for thy kindly looks. 

Thus might a poet say ; but I must bring 
A birthday offering of an humbler strain, 
And yet it may not please thee less. I hold 
That 'twas the fitting season for thy birth 
When March, just ready to depart, begins 
To soften into April. Then we have 
The delicatest and most welcome flowers, 
And yet they take least heed of bitter wind 
And lowering sky. The periwinkle then. 
In an hour's sunshiae, lifts her azure blooms 
Beside the cottage door ; within the woods 
Tufts of ground-laurel, creeping underneath 
The leaves of the last summer, send their sweets 
Up to the chilly air, and, by the oak, 
The squirrel-cups, a graceful company. 
Hide in their bells a soft aerial blue — 
Sweet flowers, that nestle in the humblest 
nooks, 



30 POEMS. 

And yet witMn whose smallest bud is wrapt 
A world of promise I Still the north wind 

breathes 
His frostj and still the sky sheds snow and sleet ; 
Yet ever, when the snn looks forth again, 
The flowers smile np to him from their low 

seats. 
Well hast thou borne the bleak March day of 

life. 
Its storms and its keen winds to thee have been 
Most kindly tempered, and through all its gloom 
There has been warmth and sunshine in thy 

heart ; 
The griefs of life to thee have been like snows, 
That light upon the fields in early spring. 
Making them greener. In its milder hours, 
The smile of this pale season, thou hast seen, 
The glorious bloom of June, and in the note 
Of early bird, that comes a messenger 
From climes of endless verdure, thou hast 

heard 



THE TWENTT-SEVENTH OF IklAECH. 31 

The choir that fills the summer woods with 

song. 
Now be the hours that yet remain to thee 
Stormy or sunny, sympathy and love, 
That inextinguishably dwell within 
Thy heart, shall give a beauty and a light 
To the most desolate moments, like the glow 
Of a bright fireside in the wildest day ; 
And kindly words and offices of good 
Shall wait upon thy steps, as thou goest on. 
Where God shall lead thee, till thou reach the 

gates 
Of a more genial season, and thy path 
Be lost to human eye among the bowers 
And living fountains of a brighter land. 

Written March, 1866. 



AN INYITATIOI^ TO THE COUNTEY. 

Already, close by our summer dwelling, 
The Easter sparrow repeats her song ; 

A merr J warbler, she chides the blossoms — 
The idle blossoms that sleep so long. 

The blue-bird chants, from the elm's long 
branches, 

A hymn to welcome the budding year. 
The south wind wanders from field to forest, 

And softly whispers : the Spring is here. 

Come, daughter mine, from the gloomy city. 
Before those lays from the elm have ceased ; 

The violet breathes, by our door, as sweetly 
As in the air of her native East. 



AN INVITATION TO THE COUNTBY. 33 

Though many a flower in the wood is waking, 
The daffodil is our doorside queen ; 

She pushes upward the sward abeady, 
To spot with sunshine the early green. 

"No lays so joyous as these are warbled 
From wiry prison in maiden's bower ; 

'No pampered bloom of the greenhouse cham- 
ber 
Has half the charm of the lawn's first flower. 

Yet these sweet sounds of the early season. 
And these fair sights of its sunny days 

Are only sweet when we fondly listen, 
And only fair when we fondly gaze. 

There is no glory in star or blossom. 
Till looked upon by a loving eye ; 

There is no fragrance in April breezes, 
Till breathed with joy as they wander by. 

2* 



34: POEMS. 

Comej Julia dear, for the sprouting willows. 
The opening flowers, and the gleaming 
brooks, 

And hollows, green in the sun, are waiting 
Their dower of beauty from thy glad looks. 



A SOE'a FOE NEW YEAR'S EYE. 

Stat yet, my friends, a moment stay — 

Stay till the good old year, 
So long companion of our way, 

Shakes hands, and leaves ns here. 
Oh stay, oh stay. 
One little hour, and then away. 

The year, whose hopes were high and strong, 

Has now no hopes to wake ; 
Yet one hour more of jest and song 

For his familiar sake. 

Oh stay, oh stay, 
One mirthful hour, and then away. 



36 POEMS. 

The kindly year, his liberal hands 

Have lavished all his store. 
And shall we turn from where he stands, 

Because he gives no more? 
Oh stay, oh stay, 
One grateful hotir, and then away. 

Days brightly came and calmly went, 
While yet he was our guest ; 

How cheerfully the week was spent ! 
How sweet the seventh day's rest ! 
Oh stay, oh stay. 

One golden hour, and then away. 

Dear friends were with us, some who sleep 

Beneath the coffin lid : 
What pleasant memories we keep 

Of all they said and did ! 
Oh stay, oh stay, 
One tender hour, and then away. 



37 



Even while we sing he smiles his last 
And leaves our sphere behind. 

The good old year is with the past ; 
Oh be the new as kind ! 
Oh staj, oh stay, 

One parting strain, and then away. 



THE WraD AND STKEAM. 

A BKOOK came stealing from the ground ; 

You scarcely saw its silvery gleam 
Among the herbs that hung around 

The borders of that winding stream, 
The pretty stream, the placid stream, 
The softly gliding, bashful stream. 

A breeze came wandering from the sky. 
Light as the whispers of a dream ; 

He put the o'erhanging grasses by. 
And softly stooped to kiss the stream, 

The pretty stream, the flattered stream. 

The shy, yet unreluctant stream. 



THE WIND A2JD STREAM. 39 

The water, as the wind passed o'er, 
Shot upward many a glancing beam, 

Dimpled and quivered more and more. 
And tripped along, a livelier stream. 

The flattered stream, the simpering stream, 

The fond, delighted, silly stream. 

Away the airy wanderer flew 

To where the fields with blossoms teem, 
To sparkling springs and rivers blue. 

And left alone that little stream. 
The flattered stream, the cheated stream, 
The sad, forsaken, lonely stream. 

That careless wind came never back ; 

He wanders yet the fields I deem, 
But, on its melancholy track. 

Complaining went that little stream. 
The cheated stream, the hopeless stream, 
The ever-murmuring, mourning stream. 



THE LOST BIRD. 

From the Spanish of Oaeouna Coeoitado de Pbbby. 

My bird lias flown away, 

Far out of sight has flown, I know not where. 
Look in your lawn, I pray. 
Ye maidens, kind and fair. 

And see if my beloved bird be there. 

TTis eyes are full of light ; 
The eagle of the rock has such an eye ; 
And plumes, exceeding bright. 



THE LOST BIBD. 41 

Kound his smooth temples lie, 
And sweet his voice and tender as a sigh. 

Look where the grass is gay 
With summer blossoms, haply there he cowers ; 
•And search, from spray to spray, 

The leafy laurel bowers, 
For well he loves the laurels and the flowers. 

Find him, but do not dwell, 
With eyes too fond, on the fair form you see, 

"Not love his song too well ; 

Send him, at once, to me, 
Or leave him to the air and liberty. 

For only from my hand 
He takes the seed into his golden beak. 
And all unwiped shall stand 
The tears that wet my cheek, 
Till I have found the wanderer I seek. 



42 POEMS. 

My sight is darkened o'er, 
Whene'er I miss Ms eyes, wMcli are my day, 

And when I hear no more 

The music of his lay. 
My heart in utter sadness faints away. 



THE NIGHT JOUENEY OF A KIYEK. 

Oh Eiver, gentle Eiver ! gliding on 

In silence underneatli tliis starless sky ! 

Thine is a ministry that never rests 

Even while the living slumber. For a time 

The meddler, man, hath left the elements 

In peace ; the ploughman breaks the clods no 

more; 
The miner labors not, with steel and fii'e, 
To rend the rock, and he that hews the stone, 
And he that fells the forest, he that guides 
The loaded wain, and the poor animal 
That drags it, have forgotten, for a time, 
Their toils, and share the quiet of the earth. 
•Thou pausest not in thine allotted task, 



44 POEMS. 

oil darkling River ! Through the night I hear 
Thj wavelets rippling on the pebbly beach ; 
I hear thy current stir the rusthng sedge, 
That skirts thy bed ; thou intermittest not 
Thine everlasting journey, drawing on 
A silvery train from many a woodland spidng, 
And mountain brook. The dweller by thy side, 
Who moored his little boat upon thy beach. 
Though all the waters that upbore it then 
Have slid away o'er night, shall find, at morn. 
Thy channel filled with waters freshly drawn 
From distant cliffs and hollows where the rill 
Comes up amid the water-flags. All night 
Thou givest moisture to the thirsty roots 
Of the lithe willow and o'erhanging plane. 
And cherishest the herbage of thy bank. 
Spotted with little flowers, and sendest up 
Perpetually, the vapors from thy face. 
To steep the hills with dew, or darken heaven 
With drifting clouds, that trail the shadowy 
shower. 



THE NIGHT JOURNEY OF A RIVER. 45 

Oh Kiver ! darkling Kiver ! what a voice 
Is that thou utterest while all else is still — 
The ancient voice that, centuries ago, 
Sounded between thy hills, while Eome was yet 
A weedy solitude by Tiber's stream. 
How many, at this hour, along thy course. 
Slumber to thine eternal murmm^ings. 
That mingle with the utterance of their dreams ! 
At dead of night the child awakes and hears 
Thy soft, familiar dashings, and is soothed, 
And sleeps again. An airy multitude 
Of little echoes, all unheai'd by day. 
Faintly repeat, till morning, after thee. 
The story of thine endless goings forth. 

Yet there are those who lie beside thy bed 
For whom thou once didst rear the bowers that 

screen 
Thy margin, and didst water the green fields ; 
And now there is no night so still that they 
Can hear thy lapse ; their slumbers, were thy 

voice 



4:6 POEMS. 

Louder than ocean's, it could never break. 
For tliem tlie early violet no more 
Opens upon thy bank, nor, for their eyes, 
Glitter the crimson pictures of the clouds, 
Upon thy bosom, when the sun goes down. 
Their memories are abroad, the memories 
Of those who last were gathered to the earth. 
Lingering withiu the homes in which they sat. 
Hovering above the paths in which they walked. 
Haunting them like a presence. Even now 
They visit many a dreamer in the forms 
They walked in, ere at last they wore the 

shroud. 
And eyes there are which will not close to 

dream. 
For weeping and for thinking of the grave, 
The new-made grave, and the pale one within. 
These memories and these sorrows all shall fade, 
And pass away, and fresher memories 
And newer sorrows come and dwell awhile, 
Beside thy borders, and, in turn, depart. 



THE NIGHT JOTJENEY OF A EIVEB. 



47 



On glide thy waters, till at last they flow 
Beneath the windows of the populous town, 
And all night long give back the gleam of 

lamps. 
And glimmer with the trains of light that 

stream 
From halls where dancers whirl. A dimmer ray 
Touches thy surface from the silent room 
In which they tend the sick, or gather round 
The dying ; and a slender, steady beam 
Comes from the little chamber, in the roof 
Where, with a feverous crimson on her cheek, 
The solitary damsel, dyiag, too. 
Plies the quick needle till the stars grow pale. 
There, close beside the haunts of revel, stand 
The blank, unlighted windows, where the poor, 
In hunger and in darkness, wake till mom. 
There, drowsily, on the half conscious ear 
Of the dull watchman, pacing on the wharf. 
Falls the soft ripple of the waves that strike 
On the moored bark ; but guiltier listeners 



48 POEMS. 

Are nigh, tlie prowlers of the night, who steal 
From shadowy nook to shadowy nook, and start 
If other sounds than thine are in the air. 

Oh, glide away from those abodes, that bring 
Pollution to thy channel and make foul 
Thy once clear current; summon thy quick 

waves 
And dimpling eddies ; linger not, but haste. 
With all thy waters, haste thee to the deep, 
There to be tossed by shifting winds and rocked 
By that mysterious force which lives within 
The sea's immensity, and wields the weight 
Of its abysses, swaying to and fro 
The billowy mass, until the stain, at length, 
Shall wholly pass away, and thou regain 
The crystal brightness of thy mountain springs. 



THE LIFE THAT IS. 

Thou, who so long hast pressed the couch of 
pain, 
Oh welcome, welcome back to life's free 
breath — 
To life's free breath and day's sweet light 
again, 
From the chill shadows of the gate of death. 

For thou hadst reached the twilight bound be- 
tween 
The world of spirits and this grosser sphere ; 
Dimly by thee the things of earth were seen. 
And faintly fell earth's voices on thine ear. 
3 



50 POEMS. 

And now, how gladly we behold, at last, 
The wonted smile returning to thy brow ; 

The very wind's low whisper, breathing past, 
In the light leaves, is music to thee now. 

Thou wert not weary of thy lot ; the earth 
Was ever good and pleasant in thy siglit ; 

Still clung thy loves abont the household 
hearth. 
And sweet was every day's returning light. 

Then welcome back to all thou would'st not 
leave. 
To this grand march of seasons, days and 
hours ; 
The glory of the morn, the glow of eve. 
The beauty of the streams, and stars, and 
flowers ; 

To eyes on which thine own delight to rest ; 
To voices which it is thy joy to hear; 



THE LIFE THAT IS. 51 

To the kind toils that ever pleased thee best, 
The willing tasks of love, that made life 

dear. 

( 

"Welcome to grasp of friendly hands ; to prayers 
Offered where crowds in reverent worship 
come, 

Or softly breathed amid the tender cares 
And loving inmates of thy quiet home. 

Then bring'st no tidings of the better land. 
Even from its verge ; the mysteries opened 
there 
Are what the faithful heart may understand 
In its still depths, yet words may not de- 
clare. 

And well I deem, that, from the brighter side 
Of life's dim border, some o'erflowing rays 

Streamed from the inner glory, shall abide 
Upon thy spirit through the coming days. 



52 POEMS. 

Twice wert thou given me; once in thy fair 
prime, 
Fresh from the fields of youth, when first 
we met. 
And all the blossoms of that hopeful time 
Clustered and glowed where'er thy steps 
were set. 

And now, in thy ripe autumn, once again 
Given back to fervent prayers and yearnings 
strong, 
From the drear realm of sickness and of pain. 
When we had watched, and feared, and 
trembled long. 

Now may we keep thee from the balmy air 
And radiant walks of heaven a little space. 

Where He, who went before thee to prepare 
For His meek followers, shall assign thy 
place. 

Gastellamare, May^ 1858. 



SONG. 

" These Praieies Glow with Flowebs." 

These prairies glow with flowers. 

These groves are tall and fair, 
The sweet lay of the mocking bird 

Kings in the morning air ; 
And yet I pine to see 

My native hill once more, 
And hear the sparrow's friendly chirp 

Beside its cottage door. 

And he, for whom I left 

My native hill and brook, 
Alas, I sometimes think I trace 

A coldness in his look. 



64: POEMS. 

If I have lost his love 

I know my heart will break ; 
And haply, they I left for him 

Will sorrow for my sake. 



A SICK-BED. 

Long hast tlion watched my bed, 
And smoothed the pillow oft 

For this poor, aching head, 
With touches kind and soft. 

Oh ! smooth it yet again, 

As softly as before ; 
Once — only once — and then 

I need thy hand no more. 

Yet here I may not stay, 
"Where I so long have lain, 



66 POEMS. 

Througli many a restless day, 
And many a night of pain. 

But bear me gently fortli 

Beneatli the open sky, 
Where, on the pleasant earth, 

Till night the sunbeams lie. 

There, through the coming days, 
I shall not look to thee 

My weary side to raise, 
And shift it tenderly. 

There sweetly shall I sleep ; 

Nor wilt thou need to bring 
And put to my hot lip 

Cool water from the spring ; 

Nor wet the kerchief laid ^ 
Upon my burning brow ; 

Nor from my eyelids shade 

The light that wounds them now ; 



A SICK-BED. 57 

Nor watch that none shall tread. 

With noisy footstep, nigh ; 
Nor listen by my bed, 

To hear my faintest sigh. 

And feign a look of cheer, 
And words of comfort speak, 

Yet turn to hide the tear 
That gathers on thy cheek. 

Beside me, where I rest. 

Thy loving hands will set 
The flowers that please me best : 

Moss-rose and violet. 

Then to the sleep I crave 

Resign me, till I see 
The face of Him who gave 

His life for thee and me. 

Yet, with the setting sun, 

Come, now and then, at eve, 
3* 



58 POEMS. 

And think of me as one 
For whom thou should'st not grieve ; 

"Who, when the kind release 
From sin and suffering came. 

Passed to the appointed peace 
In murmnring thy name. 

Leave at mj side a space, 

Where thon shalt come, at last, 

To find a resting place, 

"When many years are past. 



THE SONG OF THE SOWER 



The maples redden in the sun ; 

In autumn gold the beeches stand ; 
Rest, faithful plough, thy work is done 

Upon the teeming land. 
Bordered with trees whose gay leaves fly 
On every breath that sweeps the sky, 
The fresh dark acres farrowed lie, 

And ask the sower's hand. 
Loose the tired steer and let him go 
To pasture where the gentians blow. 
And we, who till the grateful ground. 
Fling we the golden shower around. 



60 POEMS. 

n. 

Fling wide the generous grain ; we fling 
O'er tlie dark mould the green of spring. 
For thick the emerald blades shall grow, 
When first the March winds melt the snow, 
And to the sleeping flowers, below, 

The early bluebirds sing. 
Fling wide the grain ; we give the fields 

The ears that nod in summer's gale. 
The shining stems that summer gilds, 

The harvest that o'erflows the vale, 
And swells, an amber sea, between 
The full-leaved woods, its shores of green. 
Hark ! from the murmuring clods I hear 
Glad voices of the coming year ; 
The song of him who binds the grain, 
The shout of those that load the wain, 
And from the distant grange there comes 

The clatter of the thresher's flail. 
And steadily the millstone hums 

Down in the willowy vale. 



THE SONG OF THE SOWER. 61 



m. 

Fling wide the golden shower ; we trust 
The strength of armies to the dust, 
This peaceful lea may haply yield 
Its harvest for the tented field. 
Ha ! feel ye not your fingers thrill. 

As o'er them, in the yellow grains, 
Glide the warm drops of blood that fill 

For mortal strife, the warrior's veins ; 
Such as, on Solferino's day. 
Slaked the brown sand and flowed away ; — 
Flowed till the herds, on Mincio's brink. 
Snuffed the red stream and feared to drink ;- 
Blood that in deeper pools shall lie. 

On the sad earth, as time grows gray. 
When men by deadlier arts shall die, 
And deeper darkness blot the sky 

Above the thundering fray ; 
And realms, that hear the battle cry, 
Shall sicken with dismay; 



)25 POEMS. 

And chieftains to the war shall lead 
Whole nations, with the tempest's speed, 

To perish in a day ; — 
Till man, by love and mercy taught, 
Shall rue ^/ie wreck his fury wrought. 

And lay the sword away. 
Oh strew, with pausing, shuddering hand, 
The seed upon the helpless land. 
As if, at every step, ye cast 
The pelting hail and riving blast. 

IV. 

l^ay, strew, with free and joyous sweep, 

The seed upon the expecting soil ; 
For hence the plenteous year shall heap 

The garners of the men who toil. 
Strew the bright seed for those who tear 
The matted sward with spade and share. 
And those whose sounding axes gleam 
Beside the lonely forest stream, 
Till its broad banks lie bare ; 



THE SONG OF THE SOWEK. 63 

And him wlio breaks the quarry-ledge, 

With hammer-blows, plied quick and strong, 
And him who, with the steady sledge, 

Smites the shrill anvil all day long. 
Sprinkle the furrow's even trace 

For those whose toiling hands uprear 
The roof-trees of our swarming race, 

By grove and plain, by stream and mere ; 
Who forth, from crowded city, lead 

The lengthening street, and overlay 
Green orchard plot and grassy mead 

With pavement of the murmuring way. 
Cast, with full hands, the harvest cast, 
For the brave men that climb the mast, 
When to the billow and the blast 

It swings and stoops, with fearful strain. 
And bind the fluttering mainsail fast, 

Till the tossed bark shall sit, again. 

Safe as a seabird in the main. 



64 POEMS. 



V. 

Fling wide the grain for those who throw 
The clanking shuttle to and fro, 
In the long row of humming rooms, 

And into ponderous masses wind 
The web that, from a thousand looms, 

Comes forth to clothe mankind. 
Strew, with free sweep, the grain for them. 

By whom the busy thread. 
Along the garment's even hem 

And winding seam is led ; 
A pallid sisterhood, that keep 

The lonely lamp alight. 
In strife with weariness and sleep. 

Beyond the middle night. 
Large part be theirs in what the year 
Shall ripen for the reaper here. 

VI. 

StiU, strew, with joyous hand, the wheat 
On the soft mould beneath our feet. 



THE SONG OF THE SO WEE. 65 

For even now I seem 
To hear a sound that lightly rings 
From murmuring harp and viol's strings, 

As in a summer dream. 
The welcome of the wedding guest, 

The bridegrooom's look of bashful pride, 
The faint smile of the pallid bride, 
And bridemaid's blush at matron's jest, 
And dance and song and generous dower 
Are in the shining grains we shower. 

vn. 

Scatter the wheat for shipwrecked men. 
Who, hunger-worn, rejoice again 

In the sweet safety of the shore. 
And wanderers, lost in woodlands drear. 
Whose pulses bound with joy to hear 

The herd's light bell once more. 

Freely the golden spray be shed 
For him whose heart, when night comes down 
On the close alleys of the town, 

Is faint for lack of bread. 



QQ POEMS. 

In chill roof chambers, bleak and bare, 
Or the damp cellar's stifling air, 
She who now sees, in mute despair, 

Her children pine for food. 
Shall feel the dews of gladness start 
To lids long tearless, and shall part 
The sweet loaf, with a grateful heart, 

Among her thin, pale brood. 
Dear, kindly Earth, whose breast we till ! 
Oh, for thy famished children, fill. 

Where'er the sower walks. 
Fill the rich ears that shade the mould 
"With grain for grain, a hundredfold, 

To bend the sturdy stalks. 



vm. 
Strew silently the fruitful seed, 

As softly o'er the tilth ye tread, 
For hands that delicately knead 

The consecrated bread. 



THE SONG OF THE SOWER. 67 

The mystic loaf that crowns the board, 
When, round the table of their Lord, 

Within a thousand temples set, 
In memory of the bitter death 
Of him who taught at Nazareth, 

His followers are met, 
And thoughtful eyes with tears are wet, 

As of tbe Holy One they think. 
The glory of whose rising, yet 

Makes bright the grave's mysterious brink. 

IX. 

Erethren, tbe sower's task is done. 
The seed is in its winter bed. 
Now let the dark brown mould be spread, 

To hide it from the sun. 
And leave it to the kindly care 
Of the still earth and brooding air. 
As when the mother, from her breast, 
Lays the hushed babe apart to rest, 
And shades its eyes and waits to see 
How sweet its waking smile will be. 



68 POEMS. 

The tempest now may smite, the sleet 
All night on the drowned fmrow beat, 
And winds that, from the clondy hold, 
Of winter breathe the bitter cold. 
Stiffen to stone the mellow mould. 

Yet safe shall lie the wheat ; 
Till, out of heaven's unmeasured blue. 

Shall walk again the genial year. 
To wake with warmth and nurse with dew, 

The germs we lay to slumber here. 



X. 

Oh blessed harvest yet to be ! 

Abide thou with the love that keeps, 
In its warm bosom, tenderly. 

The life which wakes and that which sleeps. 
The love that leads the willing spheres 
Along the unending track of years, 
And watches o'er the sparrow's nest. 
Shall brood above thy winter rest, 



THE SONG OF THE SOWER. 69 

And raise tliee from the dust, to hold ! 

Light whisperings with the winds of May, 
And fill thy spikes with living gold, 

From summer's yellow ray, 
Then, as thy garners give thee forth. 

On what glad errands shalt thon go, 
Wherever, o'er the waiting earth, 

Eoads wind and rivers flow. 
The ancient East shall welcome thee 
To mighty marts beyond the sea. 
And they who dwell where palm groves sound 
To summer winds the whole year round. 
Shall watch, in gladness, from the shore, 
The sails that bring thy glistening store. 



THE NEW AND THE OLD. 

New are tlie leaves on the oaken spray, 
New the blades of the silky grass ; 

Flowers, that were buds but yesterday. 
Peep from the ground where'er I pass. 

These gay idlers, the butterflies. 

Broke, to-day, from their winter shroud. 

These soft airs, that winnow the skies. 

Blow, just born, from the soft, white cloud. 

Gushing fresh in the little streams 
What a prattle the waters make ! 



THE NEW AND THE OLD. 71 

Even tlie sun, with his tender beams, 
Seems as yoimg as the flowers they wake. 

Childi-en are wading, with cheerful cries, 
In the shoals of the sparkling brook. 

Laughing maidens, with soft, young eyes, 
"Walk or sit in the shady nook. 

What am I doing, thus alone, 

In the glory of nature here. 
Silver-haired, like a snow-flake thrown 

On the greens of the springing year ? 

Only for brows unploughed by care. 
Eyes that glisten with hope and mirth. 

Cheeks unwrinkled, and unblanched hair, 
Shines this holiday of the earth. 

Under the grass, with the clammy clay. 
Lie in darkness the last year's flowers, 



72 POEMS. 

Bom of a light tliat has passed awaj, 
Dews long dried, and forgotten showers. 

" Under the grass is the fitting home," 
So they whisper, " for such as thou, 
When the winter of life is come, 

Chilling the blood, and frosting the brow." 



THE CLOUD ON THE WAY. 

See before us, in our journey, broods a mist 
upon the ground ; 

Thitber leads the path we walk in, blending 
with that gloomy bound. 

Never eye hath pierced its shadows to the mys- 
tery they screen ; 

Those who once have passed witliin it never 
more on earth are seen. 

Now it seems to stoop beside us, now at seem- 
ing distance lowers. 

Leaving banks that tempt us onward bright 
with summer-green and flowers, 
4 



74 POEMS. 

Yet it blots the way forever ; there our journey 

ends at last ; 
Into that dark cloud we enter, and are gathered 

to the past. 
Thon who, in this flinty pathway, leading 

through a stranger-land, 
Passest down the rocky valley, walking with 

me hand in hand, 
Which of us shall be the soonest folded to that 

dim Unknown ? 
Which shall leave the other walking in this 

flinty path alone ? 
Even now I see thee shudder, and thy cheek is 

white with fear. 
And thou clingest to my side as comes that 

darkness sweeping near. 
" Here," thou say'st, " the path is rugged, sown 

with thorns that wound the feet ; 
But the sheltered glens are lovely, and the riv- 
ulet's song is sweet ; 
Roses breathe from tangled thickets ; lilies 

bend from ledges brown ; 



THE CLOUD ON THE WAY. 75 

Pleasantly between the pelting showers the sun- 
shine gushes down ; 
Dear a-re those who walk beside us, they whose 

looks and voices make 
All this rugged region cheerfal, till I love it for 

their sake. 
Far be yet the hour that takes me where that 

chilly shadow lies, 
From the things I know and love and from the 

sight of loving eyes." 
So thou murmurest, fearful one : but see, we 

tread a rougher way ; 
Fainter glow the gleams of sunshine that upon 

the dark rocks play ; 
Rude winds strew the faded flowers upon the 

crags o'er which we pass ; 
Banks of verdure, when we reach them, hiss 

with tufts of withered grass. 
One by one we miss the voices which we loved 

so well to hear ; 
One by one the kindly faces in that shadow dis- 
appear. 



76 POEMS. 

Yet upon the mist before us -^x thine eyes with 

closer view ; 
See, beneath its sullen skirts, the rosy morning 

glimmers through. 
One whose feet the thorns have wounded passed 

that baiTier and came back, 
"With a glory on His footsteps lighting yet the 

dreary track. 
Boldly enter where He entered ; all that seems 

but darkness here, 
When thou hast passed beyond it, haply shall 

be crystal-clear. 
Viewed from that serener realm, the walks of 

human life may lie, 
Like the page of some familiar volume, open to 

thine eye ; 
Haply, from the overhanging shadow, thou 

may'st stretch an unseen hand, 
To support the wavering steps that print with 

blood the rugged land. 
Haply, leaning o'er the pilgrim, all unweeting 

thou art near. 



THE CLOUD ON THE WAY. 77 

Thou may'st whisper words of warning or of 

comfort in his ear, 
Till, beyond the border where that brooding 

mystery bars the sight, 
Those whom thou hast fondly cherished stand 

with thee in peace and light. 



THE TIDES. 

The moon is at her Ml, and, riding high, 
Eloods the calm fields with light. 

The airs that hover in the summer sky- 
Are all asleep to-night. 

There comes no voice from the great woodlands 
round 

That mnrmnred all the day ; 
Beneath the shadow of their boughs, the ground 

Is not more still than thej. 



THE TIDES. 79 

But ever heaves and moans the restless Deep ; 

His rising tides I hear, 
Afar I see the glimmering billows leap ; 

I see them breaking near. 

Each wave springs upward, climbing toward 
the fair 

Pure light that sits on high — 
Springs eagerly, and faintly sinks, to where 

The mother waters lie. 

Upward again it swells ; the moonbeams show, 

Again, its glimmering crest ; 
Again it feels the fatal weight below, 

And sinks, but not to rest. 

Again and yet again ; until the Deep 

Eecalls his brood of waves ; 
And, with a sullen moan, abashed, they creep 

Back to his inner caves. 



80 POEMS. 

Brief respite ! they shall rush from that recess 

"With noise and tumult soon, 
And fling themselves, with unavailing stress. 

Up toward the placid moon. 

Oh, restless Sea, that, in thy prison here, 

Dost struggle and complain ; 
Through the slow centuries yearning to be near 

To that fair orb in vain ; 

The glorious source of light and heat must 
warm 
Thy billows from on high, 
And change them to the cloudy trains that 
form 
The curtains of the sky. 

Then only may they leave the waste of brine 

In which they welter here. 
And rise above the hills of earth, and shine 

In a serener sphere. 



ITALY. 

YoiCES from the mountains speak ; 

Apennines to Alps reply ; 
Yale to vale and peak to peak 
Toss an old remembered cry ; 
Italy 

Shall be free ! 
Such the mighty shout that fills 
AH the passes of her hills. 

All the old Italian lakes 

Quiver at that quickening word ; 
Como with a thrill awakes ; 

Garda to her depths is stirred ; 
4* 



82 POEMS. 

Mid the steeps 

Where he sleeps, 
Dreaming of the elder years, 
Startled Thrasjmenus hears. 

Sweeping Amo, swelling Po, 

Murmur freedom to their meads. 
Tiber swift and Liris slow 

Send strange whispers from their reeds. 
Italy 

Shall be free, 
Sing the glittering brooks that slide, 
Toward the sea, from Etna's side. 

Long ago was Gracchus slain ; 

Brutus perished long ago ; 
Yet the living roots remain 
Whence the shoots of greatness grow. 
Yet again, 
God-like men, 



ITALY. 83 



Sprung from that heroic stem. 
Call the land to rise with them. 



They who haunt the swarming street, 
They who chase the mountain boar, 
Or, where cliff and billow meet, 
Prune the vine or pull the oar, 
With a stroke 
Break their yoke ; 
Slaves but yestereve were they — 
Freemen with the dawning day. 

Looking in his children's eyes, 

While his own with gladness flash, 
" These," the Umbrian father cries, 
" Ne'er shall crouch beneath the lash 1 
These shall ne'er 
Brook to wear 
Chains whose cruel links are twined 
Round the crushed and withering mind." 



84 POEMS. 

Monarchs ! ye whose armies stand 

Harnessed for tlie battle-field ! 
Pause, and from the lifted hand 
Drop the bolts of war ye wield. 
Stand aloof 
While the proof 
Of the people's might is given ; 
Leave their kings to them and heaven. 

Stand aloof, and see the oppressed 

Chase the oppressor, pale with fear, 
As the fresh winds of the west 
Blow the misty valleys clear. 
Stand and see 
Italy 
Cast the gyves she wears no more 
To the gulfs that steep her shore. 



A DAY DEEAM. 

A DAY dream by the dark blue deep ; 

Was it a dream, or something more ? 
I sat where Posilippo's steep, 

With its gray shelves, o'erhung the shore. 

On ruined Eoman walls around 
The poppy flaunted, for 'twas May ; 

And at my feet, with gentle sound, 
Broke the light billows of the bay. 



3 POEMS. 

I sat and watched the eternal flow 

Of those smooth billows toward the shore, 

While quiyering lines of light below, 
Kan with them on the ocean floor. 

Till, from the deep, there seemed to rise 
White arms upon the waves outspread. 

Young faces, lit with soft blue eyes, 
And smooth, round cheeks, just touched 
with red. 

Their long, fair tresses, tinged with gold. 
Lay floating on the ocean streams. 

And such their brows as bards behold — 
Love-stricken bards, in morning dreams. 

Then moved their coral lips ; a strain 
Low, sweet and sorrowful I heard, 

As if the murmurs of the main 
Were shaped to syllable and word. 



A DAY DREAM. 87 

" The sight thou dimly dost behold, 
Oh, stranger from a distant sky ! 

"Was often, in the days of old. 
Seen by the clear, believing eye. 

" Then danced we on the wrinMed sand, 
Sat in cool caverns by the sea. 
Or wandered up the bloomy land. 
To talk with shepherds on the lea. 

" To US, in storms, the seaman prayed, 
And where onr rustic altars stood, 
His little children came and laid 
The fairest flowers of field and wood, 

" Oh woe, a long unending woe ! 
For who shall knit the ties again 
That linked the sea-nymphs, long ago. 
In kindly fellowship with men ? 



88 POEMS. 

" Earth rears her flowers for us no more ; 
A half-remembered dream are we. 
Unseen we haunt the sunny shore, 
And swim, unmarked, the glassy sea. 

" And we have none to love or aid. 
But wander, heedless of mankind, 
With shadows by the cloud-rack made. 
With moaning wave and sighing wind. 

" Yet sometimes, as in elder days. 
We come before the painter's eye. 
Or fix the sculptor's eager gaze. 
With no profaner witness nigh. 

" And then the words of men grow warm 
With praise and wonder, asking where 
The artist saw the perfect form 
He copied forth in lines so fair." 



A DAT DREAM. 89 

As thus they spoke, with wayering sweep 
Floated the graceful forms away ; 

Dimmer and dimmer, through the deep, 
I saw the white arms gleam and play. 

Fainter and fainter, on mine ear, 
Fell the soft accents of their speech, 

Till I, at last, could only hear 

The waves run murmuring up the beach. 



THE EUINS OF ITALICA. 

From the Spanish of Rioja. 
I. 

IFabius, this region, desolate and drear, 
These solitary fields, tMs shapeless mound, 
"Were once Italica, the far-renowned ; 
Eor Scipio, the mighty, planted here 
His conquering colony, and now, o'erthrown, 
Lie its once dreaded walls of massive stone. 
Sad relics, sad and vain. 
Of those invincible men 
Who held the region then. 
Funereal memories alone remain 
"Where forms of high example walked of yore, 



THE RUINS OF ITALICA. 91 

Here lay the forum, there arose the fane, 
The eye beholds their places and no more. 
Their proud gymnasium and their sumptuous 

baths, 
Kesolved to dust and cinders, strew the paths. 
Their towers, that looked defiance at the sky, 
Fallen by their own vast weight, in fragments 
lie. 

n. 

This broken circus, where the rock weeds climb, 
Flaunting with yellow blossoms, and defy 
The gods to whom its walls were piled so 
high, 
Is now a ti'agic theatre, where Time 
Acts his great fable, spreads a stage that shows 
Past grandeur's story and its di'eary close. 
Why, round this desert pit. 
Shout not the applauding rows 
Where the great people sit ? 
Wild beasts are here, but where the combatant, 



92 POEMS. 

Witt his bare arms, tlie strong athleta where ? 
All have departed from this once gay haunt 

Of noisy crowds, and silence holds the air. 
Yet, on this spot. Time gives us to behold 
A spectacle as stern as those of old. 
As dreamily I gaze, there seem to rise, 
From all the mighty ruin, wailing cries. 

m. 
The terrible in war, the pride of Spain, 

Trajan, his country's father, here was bom; 
Good, fortunate, triumphant, to whose reign 
Submitted the far regions, where the morn 
Eose from her cradle, and the shore whose 

steeps 
O'erlooked the conquered Gaditanian deeps. 
Of mighty Adrian here, 
Of Theodosius, saint. 
Of Silius, Yirgil's peer. 
Were rocked the cradles, rich with gold, and 
quaint 



THE RUmS OF ITALICA. 93 

With ivory carvings ; here were laurel boughs 
And sprays of jasmine gathered for their 
brows, 
From gardens now a marshy, thorny 
waste. 
Where rose the palace, reared for Csesar, yawn 
Foul rifts to which the scudding lizards 
haste. 
Palaces, gardens, Caesars, all are gone. 
And even the stones their names were graven 
on. 

IV. 

Fabius, if tears prevent thee not, survey • 
The long dismantled streets, so thronged of 
old, 
The broken marbles, arches in decay. 

Proud statues, toppled from their place and 

rolled 
In dust, when ITemesis, the avenger, came, 
And buried, in forgetfulness profound. 



94 POEMS. 

The owners and their fame. 

Thus Troy, I deem must be. 

With many a mouldering mound ; 
And thou, whose name alone remains to thee, 
Rome, ' of old gods and kings the native 

ground; 
And thou, sage Athens, built by Pallas, whom 
Just laws redeemed not from the appointed 

doom. 
The envy of earth's cities once wert thou, — 
A weary solitude and ashes now. 
For fate and death respect ye not : they strike 
The mighty city and the wise alike. 

V. 

But why goes forth the wandering thought to 
frame 
New themes of sorrow, sought in distant 

lands? 
Enough the example that before me stands ; 
For here are smoke wreaths seen, and glimmer- 
ing flame, 



THE RiriNS OF ITALICA. 95 

And hoarse lamentings on the breezes die ; 
So doth the mighty ruin cast its spell 
On those who near it dwell. 
And under night's still sky, 
As awe-struck peasants tell, 
A melancholy voice is heard to cry, 
" Italica is fallen ; " the echoes then 
Mournfully shout " Italica" again. 

The leafy alleys of the forest nigh 
Murmur " Italica," and all around, 
A troop of mighty shadows, at the sound 
Of that illustrious name, repeat the call, 
" Italica ! " from ruined tower and wall. 



"WAITII^a BY THE GATE. 

Beside a massive gateway built up in years gone 

by, 
Upon whose top the clouds in eternal shadow 

He, 
While streams the evening sunshine on quiet 

wood and lea, 
I stand and calmly wait till the hinges turn for 

me. 

The tree tops faintly rustle beneath the breeze's 

flight, 
A soft and soothing sound, yet it whispers of 

the night ; 



WAITING BY THE GATE. 97 

I hear the woodtlimsli piping one mellow des- 
cant more, 

And scent the flowers that blow when the heat 
of day is o'er. 

Behold the portals open, and o'er the threshold, 
now, 

There steps a weary one with a pale and fur- 
rowed brow ; 

His count of years is full, his allotted task is 
wrought ; 

He passes to his rest from a place that needs 
him not. 

In sadness then I ponder how quickly fleets the 

hour 
Of human strength and action, man's courage 

and his power. 
I muse while still the woodthrush sings down 

the golden day, 
And as I look and listen the sadness wears 

away. 



98 POEMS. 

Again the hinges turn, and a youth, departing, 

throws 
A look of longing backward, and sorrowfully 

goes; 
A blooming maid, unbinding the roses from 

her hair. 
Moves mournfully away from amidst the young 

and fair. 

Oh glory of our race that so suddenly decays ! 
Oh crimson flush of morning that darkens as 

we gaze ! 
Oh breath of summer blossoms that on the 

restless air 
Scatters a moment's sweetness and flies we 

know not where ! 

I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown 

and then withdrawn ; 
But still the sun shines round me : the evening 

bird sings on, 



wAirma by the gate. yy 

And I again am soothed, and, beside the an- 
cient gate. 

In this soft evening sunlight, I calmly stand 
and wait. 

Once more the gates are opened; an infant 
group go out, 

The sweet smile quenched forever, and stilled 
the sprightly shout. 

Oh frail, frail tree of Life, that upon the green- 
sward strows 

Its fair young buds imopened, with every wind 
that blows ! 

So come from every region, so enter, side by 

side, 
The strong and faint of spirit, the meek and 

men of pride. 
Steps of earth's great and mighty, between 

those pillars gray. 
And prints of little feet, mark the dust along 

the way. 



100 POEMS. 

And some approach the threshold whose looks 
are blank with fear, 

And some whose temples brighten with joy in 
drawing near, 

As if they saw dear faces, and canght the gra- 
cious eye 

Of Him, the Sinless Teacher, who came for us 
to die. 

I mark the joy, the terror ; yet these, within my 

heart. 
Can neither wake the dread nor the longing to 

depart ; 
And, in the sunshine streaming on quiet wood 

and lea, 
I stand and calmly wait till the hinges turn for 

me. 



NOT YET. 

Oh country, marvel of the earth ! 

Oh realm to sudden greatness grown ! 
The age that gloried in thy birth, 

Shall it behold thee overthrown ? 
Shall traitors lay that greatness low ? 
No, land of Hope and Blessing, No ! 

And we, who wear thy glorious name, 
Shall we, like cravens, stand apart, 

"When those whom thou hast trusted aim 
The death blow at thy generous heart ? 

Forth goes the battle cry, and lo ! 

Hosts rise in harness, shouting. No I 



103 POEMS. 

And they who founded, in our land. 
The power that rules from sea to sea, 

Bled they in vain, or vainly planned 
To leave their country great and free ? 

Their sleeping ashes, from below. 

Send up the thrilling murmur, 'No ! 

Knit they the gentle ties which long 
These sister States were proud to wear, 

And forged the kindly links so strong 
For idle hands in sport to tear? 

For scornful hands aside to throw ? 

"No, by our fathers' memory, ]^o ! 

Our humming marts, our iron ways. 
Our wind-tossed woods on mountain-crest, 

The hoarse Atlantic, with its bays, 
The calm, broad Ocean of the "West, 

And Mississippi's torrent-flow. 

And loud Niagara, answer, IsTo ! 



I^OT YET. 103 

Not vet the hour is nigli when they 
"Who deep in Eld's dim twilight sit, 

Earth's ancient kings, shall rise and say, 
" Proud country, welcome to the pit ! 

So soon art thou, like us, brought low ! " 

No, sullen group of shadows, No ! 

For now, behold, the arm that gave 
The victory in our fathers day. 

Strong, as of old, to guard and save — 
That mighty arm which none can stay — 

On clouds above and fields below, 

Writes, in men's sight, the answer, No ! 

July^ 1861. 



OUR COUNTRY'S CALL. 

Lay down the axe ; fling by the spade ; 

Leave in its track the toiling plongh ; 
The rifle and the bayonet blade 

For arms like yours were fltter now ; 
And let the hands that ply the pen 

Quit the light task, and learn to wield 
The horseman's crooked brand, and rein 

The charger on the battle field. 

Our country calls ; away ! away ! 

To where the blood-stream blots the green. 
Strike to defend the gentlest sway 

That Time in all his course has seen. 



105 



See, from a thousand coverts — see, 

Spring the armed foes that haunt her track ; 

They rush to smitO' her down, and we 
Must beat the banded traitors back. 

Ho ! sturdy as the oaks ye cleave, 

And moved as soon to fear and flight, 
Men of the glade and forest ! leave 

Your woodcraft for the field of fight. 
The aims that wield the axe must pour 

An iron tempest on the foe ; 
His serried ranks shall reel before 

The arm that lays the panther low. 

And ye, who breast the mountain storm 
By grassy steep or highland lake. 

Come, for the land ye love, to form 
A bulwark that no foe can break. 

Stand, like your own gray cliffs that mock 
The whirlwind, stand in her defence ; 

The blast as soon shall move the rock 

As rushing squadrons bear ye thence. 
6* 



106 POEMS. 

And ye, whose homes are by her grand 

Swift rivers, rising far away, 
Come from the depth of her green land, 

As mighty in your march as they ; 
As terrible as when the rains 

Have swelled them over bank and bourne, 
"With sudden floods to drown the plains 

And sweep along the woods nptorn. 

And ye, who throng, beside the deep. 

Her ports and hamlets of the strand, 
In number like the waves that leap 

On his long murmuring marge of sand. 
Come, like that deep, when, o'er his brim, 

He rises, all his floods to pour, 
And flings the proudest barks that swim, 

A helpless wreck, against his shore. 

Few, few were they whose swords of old 
"Won the fair land in which we dwell ; 

But we are many, we who hold 
The grim resolve to guard it well. 



107 



Strike, for that broad and goodly land, 
Blow after blow, till men sball see 

That Might and Eight move hand in hand, 
And glorious must their triumph be. 

September^ 1861. 



THE CONSTELLATIONS. 

Oh, Constellations of the earlj night 
That sparkled brighter as the twilight died. 
And made the darkness glorious ! I have seen 
Yonr rays grow dim upon the horizon's edge, 
And sink behind the moimtains. I have seen 
The great Orion, with his jewelled belt, 
That large-limbed warrior of the skies, go down 
Into the gloom. Beside him sank a crowd 
Of shining ones. I look in vain to find 
The group of sister-stars, which mothers love 
To show their wondering babes, the gentle 
Seven. 



THE CONSTELLATIONS. 109 

Along the desert space mine eyes in vain 
Seek the resplendent cressets which the Twins 
Uplifted in their ever-youthful hands. 
The streaming tresses of the Egyptian Queen 
Spangle the heavens no more. The Yirgin 

trails 
1^0 more her glittering garments through the 

blue. 
Gone ! all are gone ! and the forsaken Night, 
"With all her winds, iq all her dreary wastes, 
Sighs that they shine upon her face no more. 

Now only here and there a little star 
Looks foi-th alone. Ah me ! 1 know them not. 
Those dim successors of the numberless host 
That filled the heavenly fields, and flung to 

earth 
Their quivering fires. And now the middle 

watch 
Betwixt the eve and mom is past, and still 
TTie darkness gains upon the sky, and still 
It closes round my way. Shall, then, the night. 



110 POEMS. 

Grow starless in her later hours ? Have these 
!N^o train of flaming watchers, that shall mark 
Their coming and farewell ? Oh Sons of Light ! 
Have ye then left me ere the daw^n of day 
To grope along my journey sad and faint ? 
Thus I complained, and from the darkness 

round 
A voice replied — was it indeed a voice, 
Or seeming accents of a waking dream 
Heard by the inner ear ? But thus it said : 
Oh, Traveller of the Night ! thine eyes are dim 
With watching ; and the mists, that chill the 

vale 
Down which thy feet are passing, hide from 

view 
The ever-burning stars. It is thy sight 
That is so dark, and not the heavens. Thme 



Were they but clear, would see a fiery host 
Above thee ; Hercules, with flashing mace, 
The Lyre with silver chords, the Swan uppoised 



THE CONSTELLATIONS. Ill 

On gleaming wings, the Dolphin gliding on 
With glistening scales, and that poetic steed, 
With beamy mane, whose hoof struck out from 

earth 
The fount of Hippocrene, and many more. 
Fair clustered splendors, with whose rays the 

Night 
Shall close her march in glory, ere she yield, 
To the young Day, the great earth steeped in 

dew. 
So spake the monitor, and I perceived 
How vain were my repinings, and my thought 
"Went backward to the vanished years and all 
The good and great who came and passed with 

them. 
And knew that ever would the years to come 
Bring with them, in their course, the good and 

great, 
Lights of the world, though, to my clouded 

sight. 
Their rays might seem but dim, or reach me 

not. 



THE THIRD OF NOVEMBER, 1861. 

Softly breathes the westwind beside the ruddj 
forest, 
Taking leaf by leaf from the brancbes where 
he flies. 
Sweetly streams the simshine, this third day of 
November, 
Through the golden haze of the quiet antnmn 
sMes. 

Tenderly the season has spared the grassy 
meadows, 
Spared the petted flowers that the old world 
gave the new. 



THE THIRD OF NOVEMBEK, 1861. 113 

Spared the autumn rose and the garden's group 
of pansies, 
Late-blown dandelions and periwinkles blue. 

On my cornice linger the ripe black grapes un- 
gathered ; 
Chil(||^n fill the groves with the echoes of 
their^glee, 
Gathering tawny chestnuts, and shouting when 
beside them 
Drops the heavy fruit of the tall black-wal- 
nut tree. 

Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and 
crimson, 
Yet our full-leaved willows are in their fresh- 
est green. 
Such a kindly autumn, so mercifully dealing 
With the growths of summer, 1 never yet 
have seen. 



114 POEMS. 

Like tliis kindly season may life's decline come 
o'er me ; 
Past is manhood's summer, the frosty months 
are here ; 
Fet be genial airs and a pleasant sunshine left 
me, 
Leaf, and fruit, and blossom, to mark the 
closing year. 

Dreary is the time when the flowers of earth 
are withered ; 
Dreary is the time when the woodland leaves 
are cast. 
When, upon the hillside, all hardened into 
iron. 
Howling, like a wolf, flies the famished 
northern blast. 

Dreary are the years when the eye can look no 
longer 
With delight on nature, or hope on human 
kind; 



THE THIRD OF NOVEMBER, 1861. 115 

Oh may those that whiten my temples, as they 
pass me. 
Leave the heart unfrozen, and spare the 
cheerful mind. 



THE MOTHEK'S HYMK 

LoEDj who ordainest for mankind 
Benignant toils and tender cares ! 

We thank thee for the ties that bind 
The mother to the child she bears. 

We thank thee for the hopes that rise. 
Within her heart, as, day by day, 

The dawning sonl, from those young eyes, 
Looks, with a clearer, steadier ray. 

And grateful for the blessing given 
With that dear infant on her knee, 

She trains the eye to look to heaven, 
Tlie voice to lisp a prayer to thee. 



117 



Sncli thanks the blessed Mary gave, 
"When, from her lap, the Holy Child 

Sent from on high to seek and save 

The lost of earth, looked up and smiled. 

All-Gracious ! grant, to those who bear 
A mother's charge, the strength and light 

To lead the steps that own their care 
In ways of Love, and Truth, and Eight. 



SELLA. 

Heae now a legend of the days of old — 

The days when there were goodly marvels yet, 

When man to man gave willing faith, and 

loved 
A tale the better that 'twas wild and strange. 

Beside a pleasant dwelling ran a brook 
Scudding along a narrow channel, paved 
With green and yellow pebbles; yet full clear 
Its waters were, and colorless and cool, 
As fresh from granite rocks. A maiden oft 
Stood at the open window, leaning out, 
And listening to the sound the water made, 



SELLA. 119 

A sweet, eternal murmur, still tlie same, 
And not the same ; and oft, as spring came on, 
She gathered yiolets from its fresh moist bank. 
To place within her bower, and when the herbs 
Of summer drooped beneath the midday sun, 
She sat within the shade of a great rock. 
Dreamily listening to the streamlet's song. 
Ripe were the maiden's years ; her stature 
showed 
Womanly beauty, and her clear, calm eye 
"W"as bright with venturous spirit, yet her face 
Was passionless, like those by sculptor graved 
For niches in a temple. Lovers oft 
Had wooed her, but she only laughed at love, 
And wondered at the silly things they said. 
'Twas her delight to wander where wild vines 
O'erhang the river's brim, to climb the path 
Of woodland streamlet to its mountain springs, 
To sit by gleaming wells and mark below 
The image of the rushes on its edge, 
And, deep beyond, the trailing clouds that slid 



120 POEMS. 

Across the fair blue space. ISTo little fount 
Stole fortli from hanging rock, or in the side 
Of hollow dell, or under roots of oak, 
No rill came trickling, with a stripe of green, 
Down the bare hill, that to this maiden's eyes 
Was not familiar. Often did the banks 
Of river or of sylvan lakelet hear 
The dip of oars with which the maiden rowed 
Her shallop, pushing ever from the prow 
A crowd of long, light ripples toward the shore. 
Two brothers had the maiden, and she 

thought, 
Within herself : " I would I were like them ; 
For then I might go forth alone, to trace 
The mighty rivers downward to the sea, 
And upward to the brooks that, through the 

year. 
Prattle to the cool valleys. I would know 
What races drink their waters ; how their 

chiefs 
Bear rule, and how men worship there, and how 



SELLA. 121 

They build, and to what quaint device they 

frame, 
Where sea and river meet, their stately ships ; 
What flowers are in their gardens, and what 

trees 
Bear fruit within their orchards ; in what garb 
Their bowmen meet on holidays, and how 
Their maidens bind the waist and braid the 

hair. 
Here, on these hills, my father's house o'erlooks 
Broad pastures grazed by flocks and herds, but 

there 
I hear they sprinkle the great plains with corn 
And watch its springing up, and when the 

green 
Is changed to gold, they cut the stems and 

bring 
The harvest in, and give the nations bread. 
And there they hew the quarry into shafts, 
And pile up glorious temples from the rock. 
And chisel the rude stones to shapes of men. 
6 



123 POEMS. 

All this I pine to see, and would have seen. 
But that I am a woman, long ago." 

Thus in her wanderings did the maiden 

dream, 
Until, at length, one morn in early spring, 
WTien all the glistening fields lay white with 

frost, 
She came half breathless where her mother sat : 
" See, mother dear," she said, " what I have 

found. 
Upon our rivulet's bank ; two slippers, white 
As the mid-winter snow, and spangled o'er 
With twinkling points, like stars, and on the 

edge 
My name is wrought in silver ; read, I pray, 
Sella, the name thy mother, now in heaven. 
Gave at my birth ; and sure, they fit my feet ! " 
" A dainty pair," the prudent matron said, 
" But thine they are not. "We must lay them by 
For those whose careless hands have left them 

here ; 



SELLA. 123 

Or haply they were placed beside the brook 
To be a sDare. I cannot see thy name 
Upon the border, — only characters 
Of mystic look and dim are there, like signs 
Of some strange art; nay, danghter, wear them 

not." 
Then Sella hung the slippers in the porch 
Of that broad rustic lodge, and all who passed, 
Admired their fair contexture, but none knew 
Who left them by the brook And now, at 

length, 
May, with her flowers and singing birds, had 

gone. 
And on bright streams and into deep wells 

shone 
The high, mid-summer sun. One day, at noon, 
Sella was missed from the accustomed meal. 
They sought her in her favorite haunts, they 

looked 
By the great rock, and far along the stream. 
And shouted in the sounding woods her name. 



124 POEMS. 

Night came, and fortli the sorrowing household 

went 
With torches over the wide pasture grounds 
To pool and thicket, marsh and briery dell, 
And solitary valley far away. 
The morning came, and Sella was not fonnd. 
The sun climbed high ; they sought her still ; 

the noon, 
The hot and silent noon, heard Sella's name. 
Uttered with a despairing cry, to wastes 
O'er which the eagle hovered. As the sun 
Stooped toward the amber west to bring the 

close 
Of that sad second day, and, with red eyes, 
The mother sat within her home alone, 
Sella was at her side. A shriek of joy 
Broke the sad silence ; glad, warm tears were 

shed. 
And words of gladness uttered. " Oh, forgive," 
The maiden said, " that I could e'er forget 
Thy wishes for a moment. I just tried 



SELLA. 126 

The slippers on, amazed to see them shaped 
So fairly to my feet, when, all at once, 
I felt my steps upborne and hm*ried on 
Almost as if with wings. A strange delight, 
Blent with a thrill of fear, o'ermastered me, 
And, ere I knew, my plashing steps were set 
Within the riyulet's pebbly bed, and I 
"Was rushing down the current. By my side 
Tripped one as beautiful as ever looked 
From white clouds in a dream ; and, as we ran, 
She talked with musical Yoice and sweetly 

laughed ; 
Gayly we leaped the crag and swam the pool, 
And swept with dimpling eddies round the 

rock, 
And glided between shady meadow banks. 
The streamlet, broadening as we went, became 
A swelling river, and we shot along 
By stately towns, and under leaning masts 
Of gallant barks, nor lingered by the shore 
Of blooming gardens ; onward, onward still, 



126 POEMS. 

The same strong impulse bore me till, at last, 
We entered the great deep, and passed below 
His billows, into boundless spaces, lit 
"With a green sunshine. Here were mighty 

groves 
Far down the ocean valleys, and between 
Lay what might seem fair meadows, softly 

tinged 
With orange and with crimson. Here arose 
Tall stems, that, rooted in the depths below. 
Swung idly with the motions of the sea ; 
And here were shrubberies in whose mazy 

screen 
The creatures of the deep made haunt. My 

friend 
Named the strange growths, the pretty coral- 
line, 
The dulse with crimson leaves, and streaming 

far, 
Sea-thong and sea-lace. Here the tangle spread 
Its broad, thick fronds, with pleasant bowers 

beneath, 



SELLA. 127 

And oft we trod a waste of pearly sands. 
Spotted with rosy shells, and thence looked in 
At caverns of the sea whose rock-roofed halls 
Lay in bine twilight. As we moved along, 
The dwellers of the deep, in mighty herds, 
Passed by ns, reverently they passed ns by, 
Long trains of dolphins rolling thi'ough the 

brine, 
Hnge whales, that drew the waters after them, 
A torrent stream, and hideous hammer-sharks. 
Chasing their prey ; I shuddered as they came ; 
Gently they turned aside and gave us room." 

Hereat broke in the mother, " Sella, dear, 
This is a dream, the idlest, vainest dream." 

" Nay, mother, nay ; behold this sea-green 
scarf. 
Woven of such threads as never human hand 
Twined from the distaff. She who led my way 
Through the great waters, bade me wear it 

home, 
A token that my tale is true. ' And keep,' 



128 POEMS. 

She said, 'the slippers thou hast found, for 

thou, 
When shod with them, shalt be like one of us, 
With power to walk at will the ocean floor, 
Among its monstrous creatures unafraid. 
And feel no longing for the air of heaven 
To fill thj lungs, and send the warm, red blood 
Along thy veins. But thou shalt pass the hours 
In dances with the sea-nymphs, or go forth, 
To look into the mysteries of the abyss 
Where never plummet reached. And thou 

shalt sleep 
Thy weariness away on downy banks 
Of sea-moss, where the pulses of the tide 
Shall gently lift thy hair, or thou shalt float 
On the soft currents that go forth and wind 
From isle to isle, and wander through the sea.' 

" So spake my fellow-voyager, her words 
Sounding like wavelets on a summer shore. 
And then we stopped beside a hanging rock 
With a smooth beach of white sands at its foot, 



SELLA. 129 

Where three fair creatures like herself were set 
At their sea-banqnet, crisp and juicy stalks, 
Culled from the ocean's meadows, and the 

sweet 
Midrib of pleasant leaves, and golden fruits, 
Dropped from the trees that edge the southern 



And gathered on the waves. TCindly they 

prayed 
That I would share their meal, and I partook 
With eager appetite, for long had been 
My journey, and I left the spot refreshed. 

" And then we wandered off amid the groves 
Of coral loftier than the growths of earth ; 
The mightiest cedar lifts no trunk like theirs, 
So huge, so high, toward heaven, nor over- 
hangs 
Alleys and bowers so dim. We moved between 
Pinnacles of black rock, which, from beneath, 
Molten by inner fires, so said my guide, 
Gushed long ago into the hissing brine, 
6* 



130 POEMS. 

That quenclied and hardened them, and now 

they stand 
Motionless in the currents of the sea 
That part and flow around them. As we went, 
"We looked into the hollows of the abyss, 
To which the never-resting waters sweep 
The skeletons of sharks, the long white spines 
Of narwhale and of dolphin, bones of men 
Shipwrecked, and mighty ribs of foundered 

barks. 
Down the blue pits we looked, and hastened 

on. 
" But beautiful the fountains of the sea 
Sprang upward from its bed ; the silvery jets 
Shot branching far into the azure brine. 
And where they mingled with it, the great 

deep 
Quivered and shook, as shakes the glimmering 

air 
Above a furnace. So we wandered through 
The mighty world of waters, till, at length 



SELLA. 131 

I wearied of its wonders, and my heart 
Began to yearn for my dear mountain home. 
I prayed iny gentle guide to lead me back 
To the upper air. ' A glorious realm,' I said, 
' Is this thou openest to me ; but I stray 
Bewildered in its vastness ; these strange sights 
And this strange light oppress me. I must see 
The faces that I love, or I shall die.' 

" She took my hand, and, darting through 

the waves. 
Brought me to where the stream, by which we 

came, 
Rushed into the main ocean. Then began 
A slower journey upward. "Wearily 
We breasted the strong current, climbing 

through 
The rapids tossing high their foam. The night 
Came down, and, in the clear depth of a pool, 
Edged with o'erhanging rock, we took our rest 
Till morning ; and I slept, and dreamed of home 
And thee. A pleasant sight the morning 

showed ; 



132 POEMS. 

The green fields of this upper world, the herds 
That grazed the bank, the light on the red 

clouds, 
The trees, with all their host of trembling leaves, 
Lifting and lowering to the restless wind 
Their branches. As I woke I saw them all 
From the clear stream ; yet strangely was my 

heart 
Parted between the watery world and this, 
And as we journeyed upward, oft I thought 
Of marvels I had seen, and stopped and turned, 
And lingered, till I thought of thee again ; 
And then again I turned and clambered up 
The rivulet's murmuring path, until we came 
Beside this cottage door. There tenderly 
My fair conductor kissed me, and I saw 
Her face no more. I took the slippers off. 
Oh ! with what deep delight my lungs drew in 
The air of heaven again, and with what joy 
I felt my blood bound with its former glow ; 
And now I never leave thy side again." 



SELLA. 133 

So spoke the maiden Sella, with large tears 
Standing in her mild eyes, and in the porch 
Replaced the slippers. Autumn came and 

went; 
Tlie winter passed ; another summer warmed 
The quiet pools ; another autumn tinged 
The grape with red, yet while it hung un- 

plucked, 
The mother ere her time was carried forth 
To sleep among the solitary hills. 

A long still sadness settled on that home 
Among the mountains. The stern father there 
"Wept with his children, and grew soft of heart. 
And Sella, and the brothers twain, and one 
Younger than they, a sister fair and shy. 
Strewed the new grave with flowers, and round 

it set 
Shrubs that all winter held their lively green. 
Time passed ; the grief with which their hearts 

were wrung 
Waned to a gentle sorrow. Sella, now, 



134 POEMS. 

Was often absent from the patriarcli's board ; 
The slippers hung no longer in the porch ; 
And sometimes after summer nights her couch 
"Was found unpressed at dawn, and well thej 

knew 
That she was wandering with the race who 

make 
Their dwelling in the waters. Oft her looks 
Fixed on blank space, and oft the ill-suited 

word 
Told that her thoughts were far away. In vain 
Her brothers reasoned with her tenderly. 
"Oh leave not thus thy kindred;" so they 

prayed; 
" Dear Sella, now that she who gave us birth 
Is in her grave, oh go not hence, to seek 
Companions in that strange cold realm below, 
For which God made not us nor thee, but stay 
To be the grace and glory of our home." 
She looked at them with those mild eyes and 

wept, 



SELLA. 135 

But said no word in answer, nor refrained 
From tliose mysterious wanderings that filled 
Their loving hearts with a perpetual pain. 

And now the younger sister, fair and shy, 
Had grown to early womanhood, and one 
Who loved her well had wooed her for his 

bride, 
And she had named the wedding day. The 

herd 
Had given its fatlings for the marriage feast ; 
The roadside garden and the secret glen 
"Were rifled of their sweetest flowers to twine 
The door posts, and to lie among the locks 
Of maids, the wedding guests, and from the 

boughs 
Of mountain orchards had the fairest fruit 
Been plucked to glisten in the canisters. 

Then, trooping over hill and valley, came 
Matron and maid, grave men and smiling 

youths. 
Like swallows gathering for their autumn 

flight. 



136 POEMS. 

In costumes of that simpler age they came, 
That gave the limbs large play, and wrapt the 

form 
In easy folds, yet bright with glowing hues 
As suited holidays. All hastened on 
To that glad bridal. There already stood 
The priest prepared to say the spousal rite, 
And there the harpers in due order sat, 
And there the singers. Sella, midst them all, 
Moved strangely and serenely beautiful. 
With clear blue eyes, fair locks, and brow and 

cheek 
Colorless as the lily of the lakes. 
Yet moulded to such shape as artists give 
To beings of immortal youth. Her hands 
Had decked her sister for the bridal hour 
"With chosen flowers, and lawn whose delicate 

threads 
Yied with the spider's spinning. There she 

stood 
With such a gentle pleasm^e in her looks 



SELLA. 137 

As might beseem a river-nympli's soft eyes 
Gracing a bridal of the race whose flocks 
Were pastured on the borders of her stream. 
She smiled, but from that calm sweet face 

the smile 
Was soon to pass away. That very mom 
The elder of the brothers, as he stood 
Upon the hillside, had beheld the maid, 
Emerging from the channel of the brook. 
With three fresh water lilies in her hand. 
Wring dry her dripping locks, and in a cleft 
Of hanging rock, beside a screen of boughs. 
Bestow the spangled slippers. E'one before 
Had known where Sella hid them. Then she 

laid 
The light brown tresses smooth, and in them 

twined 
The lily buds, and hastily drew forth 
And threw across her shoulders a light robe 
Wrought for the .bridal, and with bounding 

steps 



138 POEMS. 

Ran toward the lodge. The youth beheld and 

marked 
The spot and slowly followed from afar. 

T^ow had the marriage rite been said ; the 

bride 
Stood in the blush that from her burning cheek 
Glowed down the alabaster neck, as morn 
Crimsons the pearly heaven halfway to the 

west. 
At once the harpers struck their chords ; a 

gush 
Of music broke upon the air ; the youths 
All started to the dance. Among them moved 
The queenly Sella with a grace that seemed 
Caught from the swaying of the summer sea. 
The young drew forth the elders to the dance, 
Who joined it half abashed, but when they felt 
The joyous music tingling in their veins, 
They called for quaint old measures, which they 

trod 
As gayly as in youth, and far abroad 



SELLA. 139 

Came tlirougL the open windows cheerful 

shouts 
And bursts of laughter. They who heard the 

sound 
Upon the mountain footpaths paused and said, 
" A meiTj wedding." Lovers stole away 
That sunny afternoon to bowers that edged 
The garden walks, and what was whispered 

there 
The lovers of these later times can guess. 

Meanwhile the brothers, when the merry 

din 
Was loudest, stole to where the slippers lay. 
And took them thence, and followed down the 

brook 
To where a little rapid rushed between 
Its borders of smooth rock, and dropped them 

in. 
The rivulet, as they touched its face, flung up 
Its small bright waves like hands, and seemed 

to take 
The prize with eagerness and draw it down. 



140 POEMS. 

They, gleaming tlirougli the waters as they 

went, 
And striking with light sound the shining 

stones, 
Slid down the stream. The brothers looked 

and watched 
And listened with fall beating hearts till now 
The sight and sound had passed, and silently 
And half repentant hastened to the lodge. 

The sun was near his set ; the music rang 
Within the dwelling still, but the mirth waned ; 
For groups of guests were sauntering toward 

their homes 
Across the fields, and far on hillside paths. 
Gleamed the white robes of maidens. Sella 

grew 
"Weary of the long merriment ; she thought 
Of her still haunts beneath the soundless sea, 
And all unseen withdrew and sought the cleft 
Where she had laid the slippers. They were 

gone. 



SELLA. 141 

She searclied the brookside near, yet found 

them not. 
Then her heart sank within her, and she ran ^ . 
Wildly from place to place, and once again 
She searched the secret cleft, and next she 

stooped 
And with spread palms felt carefully beneath 
The tufted herbs and bushes, and again. 
And yet again she searched the rocky cleft. 
" "Who could have taken them ? " THat ques- 
tion cleared 
The mystery. She remembered suddenly 
That when the dance was in its gayest whirl, 
Her brothers were not seen, and when, at 

length. 
They reappeared, the elder joined the sports 
"With shouts of boisterous mirth, and from her 

eye 
The younger shrank in silence. " N'ow, I 

know 
The guilty ones," she said, and left the spot, 



142 POEMS. 

And stood before the youths with such a look 
Of anguish and reproach that well they knew 
Her thought, and almost wished the deed un- 
done. 
Frankly they owned the charge : " And par- 
don us ; 
We did it all in love ; we could not bear 
That the cold world of waters and the strange 
Beings that dwell within it should beguile 
Our sister from us." Then they told her all ; 
How they had seen her stealthily bestow 
The slippers in the cleft, and how by stealth 
They took them thence and bore them down 

the brook, 
And dropped them in, and how the eager waves 
Gathered and drew them down: but at that 

word 
The maiden shrieked— a broken-hearted shriek— 
And all who heard it shuddered and turned 

pale 
At the despairing cry, and " They are gone," 



SELLA. 143 

She said, "gone — gone forever. Cruel ones ! 
'Tis you who shut me out eternally 
From that serener world which I had learned 
To love so well. Why took ye not my life ? 
Ye cannot know what ye have done." She 

spake 
And hurried to her chamber, and the guests 
Who yet had lingered silently withdrew. 
The brothers followed to the maiden's 

bower, 
But with a calm demeanor, as they came, 
She met them at the door. "The wrong is 

great," 
She said, " that ye have done me, but no power 
Have ye to make it less, nor yet to soothe 
My sorrow ; I shall bear it as I may, 
The better for the hom-s that I have passed 
In the calm region of the middle sea. 
Go, then. I need you not." They, overawed, 
Withdrew from that grave presence. Then her 

tears 



144 POEMS. 

Eroke forth a flood, as when the August cloud, 
Darkening beside the mountain, suddenly 
Melts into streams of rain. That weary night 
She paced her chamber, murmuring as she 

walked, 
" Oh peaceful region of the middle sea ! 
Oh azure bowers and grots, in which I loved 
To roam and rest ! Am I to long for you. 
And think how strangely beautiful ye are. 
Yet never see you more ? And dearer yet, 
Te gentle ones in whose sweet company 
I trod the shelly pavements of the deep. 
And swam its currents, creatures with calm 

eyes 
Looking the tenderest love, and voices soft 
As I'ipple of light waves along the shore. 
Uttering the tenderest words ! Oh ! ne'er again 
Shall I, in your mild aspects, read the peace 
That dwells within, and vainly shall I pine 
To hear your sweet low voices. Haply now 
Te miss me in your deep-sea home, and think 



SELLA. 145 

Of me with pitj, as of one condemned 

To haunt this upper world, with its harsh 

sounds 
And glaring lights, its withering heats, its 

frosts, 
Cruel and killing, its delirious strifes. 
And all its feverish passions, till I die. 

So mourned she the long night, and when 
the morn 
Brightened the mountains, from her lattice 

looked 
The maiden on a world that was to her 
A desolate and dreary waste. That day- 
She passed in wandering bj the brook that oft 
Had been her pathway to the sea, and still 
Seemed, with its cheerful murmur, to invite 
Her footsteps thither. "Well may'st thou re- 
joice. 
Fortunate stream ! " she said, " and dance along 
Thy bed, and make thy course one ceaseless 
strain 
7 



146 POEMS. 

Of music, for thou journeyest toward the deep, 
To which I shall return no more." The night 
Brought her to her lone chamber, and she knelt 
And prayed, with many tears, to Him whose 

hand 
Touches the wounded heart and it is healed. 
With prayer there came new thoughts and new 

desires. 
She asked for patience and a deeper love 
For those with whom her lot was henceforth 

cast. 
And that in acts of mercy she might lose 
The sense of her own sorrow. When she rose 
A weight was lifted from her heart. She 

sought 
Her couch, and slept a long and peaceful sleep. 
At morn she woke to a new life. Her days 
Henceforth were given to quiet tasks of good 
In the great world. Men hearkened to her 

words. 
And wondered at their wisdom and obeyed, 



BELLA. 147 

And saw liow beautiful the law of love 
Can make the cares and toils of daily life. 
Still did she love to haunt the springs and 

brooks, 
As in her cheerful childhood, and she taught 
The skill to pierce the soil and meet the veins 
Of clear cold water winding underneath, 
And call them forth to daylight. From afar 
She bade men bring the rivers on long rows 
Of pillared arches to the sultry town. 
And on the hot air of the summer fling 
The spray of dashing fountains. To relieve 
Their weary hands, she showed them how to 

tame 
The rushing stream, and make him drive the 

wheel 
That whirls the humming millstone and that 

wields 
The ponderous sledge. The waters of the 

cloud. 
That drench the hillside in the time of rains, 



148 POEMS. 

Were gathered at lier bidding into pools, 
And in tlie montlis of drought led forth again, 
In glimmering rivulets, to refresh the vales. 
Till the sky darkened with returning showers. 
So passed her life, a long and blameless life. 
And far and near her name was named with 

love 
And reverence. Still she kept, as age came on. 
Her stately presence; still her eyes looked 

forth 
From under their calm brows as brightly clear 
As the transparent wells by which she sat 
So oft in childhood. Still she kept her fair 
Unwrinkled features, though her locks were 

white. 
A hundred times had summer since her birth 
Opened the water lily on the lakes. 
So old traditions tell, before she died. 
A hundred cities mourned her, and her death 
Saddened the pastoral valleys. By the brook, 
That bickering ran beside the cottage door 



SELLA. 14:9 

Where- she was born, they reared her monu- 
ment. 
Ere long the current parted and flowed round 
The marble base, forming a little isle, 
And there the flowers that love the running 

stream, 
Iris and orchis, and the cardinal flower. 
Crowded and hung caressingly around 
The stone engraved with Sella's honored name. 



FIFTH BOOK OF HOMEE'S ODYSSEY. 



TRANSLATED, 



AmJOKA, rising from her coucli beside 
The famed Tithonus, brought the light of day 
To men and to immortals. Then the gods 
Came to their seats in council. "With them 

came 
High thundering Jupiter, amongst them all 
The mightiest. Pallas, mindful of the past, 
Spoke of Ulysses and his many woes, 
Grieved that he still was with the island 

nymph. 



151 



" Oh, father Jove, and all ye blessed ones 
Who live forever ! let not sceptred king 
Henceforth, be gracious, mild, and merciful, 
And righteous ; rather be he deaf to prayer. 
And prone to deeds of wrong, since no one now 
Remembers the divine Ulysses more 
Among the people over whom he ruled, 
Benignly, like a father. Still he lies, 
Weighed down by many sorrows, in the isle 
And dwelling of Calypso, who so long 
Constrains his stay. To his dear native land 
Depart he cannot ; ship, arrayed with oars. 
And seamen has he none, to bear him o'er 
The breast of the broad ocean. ]^ay, even now, 
Against his well-beloved son a plot 
Is laid, to slay him as he jom-neys home 
From Pylos the divine, and from the walls 
Of famous Sparta, whither he had gone 
To gather tidings of his father's fate." 

Then answered her the ruler of the storms : 
" My child, what words are these that pass thy 
lips ? 



152 POEMS. 

Was not thy long-determined counsel tMs, 
That, in good time, Ulysses should return, 
To be avenged ? Guide, then, Telemachus, 
Wisely, for so thou canst, that, all unharmed, 
He reach his native land, and, in their barks. 
Homeward the suitor-train retrace their way." 
He spoke, and turned to Hermes, his dear 

son : 
" Hermes, for thou, in this, my messenger 
Art, as in all things, to the bright-haired 

nymph 
Make known my steadfast purpose, the return 
Of suffering Ulysses. Neither gods 
!N"or men shall guide his voyage. On a raft, 
Made firm with bands, he shall depart and 

reach. 
After long hardships, on the twentieth day, 
The fertile shore of Scheria, on whose isle 
Dwell the Pheacians, kinsmen of the gods. 
They like a god shall honor him, and thence 
Send him to his loved country in a ship, 



FIFTH BOOK OF HOMER's ODYSSEY. 153 

With ample gifts of brass and gold, and store 
Of raiment — wealth like which he ne'er had 

brought 
From conquered Ilion, had he reached his home 
Safely, with all his portion of the spoil. 
So is it preordained, that he behold 
His friends again, and stand once more within 
His high-roofed palace, on his native soil." 
He spake ; the herald Argicide obeyed. 
And hastily beneath his feet he boimd 
The fair, ambrosial, golden sandals, worn 
To bear him over ocean like the wind. 
And o'er the boundless land. His wand he 

took, 
"Wherewith he softly seals the eyes of men, 
And opens them at will from sleep. With this 
In hand, the mighty Argos-queller flew, 
And lighting on Pieria, from the sky 
Plunged downward to the deep, and skimmed 

its face 
Like hovering sea-mew, that on the broad gulfs 
7* 



154 POEMS. 

Of the unfmitfiil ocean seeks her prejj 
And often dips her pinions in the brine, 
So Hermes flew along the waste of waves. 

But when he reached that island, far away. 
Forth from the dark blue ocean-swell he 

stepped 
Upon the sea-beach, walking till he came 
To the vast cave in which the bright-haired 

nymph 
Made her abode. He found the nymph within. 
A fire blazed brightly on the hearth, and far 
Was wafted o'er the isle the fragrant smoke 
Of cloven cedar, burning in the flame, 
And cypress wood. Meanwhile, in her recess, 
She sweetly sang, as busily she threw 
The golden shuttle through the web she wove. 
And all about the grotto alders grew. 
And poplars, and sweet-smelling cypresses. 
In a green forest, high among whose boughs 
Birds of broad wing, wood-owls and falcons, 

built 



FIFTH BOOK OF HOMEr's ODTSSEY. 155 

Their nests, and crows, with, voices sounding 

far. 
All haunting for their food the ocean side. 
A vine, with downy leaves and clnstering 

grapes. 
Crept over all the cavern rock. Four springs 
Poured forth their glittering waters in a row, 
And here and there went wandering side by 

side. 
Around were meadows of soft green, o'ergrown 
With violets and parsley. 'Twas a spot 
Where even an Immortal might, awhile, 
Linger, and gaze with wonder and delight. 
The herald Argos-queller stood, and saw. 
And marvelled ; but as soon as he had viewed 
The wonders of the place, he turned his steps. 
Entering the broad-roofed cave. Calypso there. 
The glorious goddess, sa^v him as he came. 
And knew him, for the ever-living gods 
Are to each other known, though one may 

dwell 



166 POEMS. 

Far from the rest. Ulysses, large of heart, 
"Was not within. Apart, npon the shore. 
He sat and sorrowed, where he oft, in tears 
And sighs and vain repinings, passed the 

hours. 
Gazing with wet eyes on the barren deep. 
ISTow, placing Hermes on a shining seat 
Of state, Calypso, glorious goddess, said, 

" Thou of the golden wand, revered and 

loved, 
What, Hermes, brings thee hither? Passing 

few 
Have been thy visits. Make thy pleasure 

known. 
My heart enjoins me to obey, if aught 
That thou commandest be within my power. 
But first accept the ofi'erings due a guest." 
The goddess, speaking thus, before him 

placed 
A table where the heaped ambrosia lay, 
And mingled the red nectar. Ate and di-ank 



157 



The herald Argos-queller, and, refreshed, 
Answered the njmph, and made his message 

known : 
" Art thou a goddess, and dost ask of me, 
A god, why came I hither ? Yet, since thou 
Requirest, I will truly tell the cause. 
I came unwillingly at Jove's command, 
For who, of choice, would traverse the wide 

waste 
Of the salt ocean, with no city near. 
Where men adore the gods with solemn rites 
And chosen hecatombs. No god has power 
To elude or to resist the purposes 
Of segis-bearing Jove. With thee abides, 
He bids me say, the most unhappy man 
Of all who round the city of Priam waged 
The battle through nine years, and, in the 

tenth, 
Laying it waste, departed for their homes. 
But, in their voyage, they provoked the wrath 
Of Pallas, who called up the furious winds 



158 POEMS. 

And angry waves against them. By his side 
Sank all his gallant comrades in the deep. 
Him did the winds and waves drive hither. 

Him 
Jove bids thee send away with speed, for here 
He must not perish, far from all he loves. 
So is it preordained that he behold 
His friends again, and stand once more within 
His high-roofed palace, on his native soil." 

He spoke, Calypso, glorious goddess, heard, 
And shuddered, and with winged words re- 
plied : 

" Ye are unjust, ye gods, and, envious far 
Beyond all other beings, cannot bear 
That ever goddess openly should make 
A mortal man her consort. Thus it was 
When once Aurora, rosy-fingered, took 
Orion for her husband ; ye were stung. 
Amid your blissful lives, with envious hate, 
Till chaste Diana, of the golden throne. 
Smote him with silent arrows from her bow, 



And slew him in Ortjgia. Thus, again, 
"When briglit-haired Ceres, swayed by her own 

heart. 
In fields which bore three yearly harvests, met 
lasion as a lover, this was known 
Ere long to Jnpiter, who fiung from high 
A flaming thunderbolt, and laid him dead. 
And now ye envy me, that with me dwells 
A mortal man. I saved him, as he clnng, 
Alone, upon his floating keel, for Jove 
Had cloven, with a bolt of fire, from heaven, 
His galley in the midst of the black sea. 
And all his gallant comrades perished there. 
Him kindly I received ; I cherished him, 
And promised him a life that ne'er should know 
Decay or death. But, since no god has power 
To elude or to withstand the purposes 
Of segis-bearing Jove, let him depart. 
If so the sovereign moves him and commands, 
Over the barren deep. I send him not ; 
For neither ship arrayed with oars have I, 



160 POEMS. 

"Nor seamen, o'er the boundless waste of waves 
To bear him bence. My counsel I will give, 
And nothing will I bide tbat be should know, 
To place him safely on bis native shore." 

The herald Argos-queller answered her : 
" Dismiss him thus, and bear in mind the 

wrath 
Of Jove, lest it be Idndled against thee." 

Thus having said, the mighty Argicide 
Departed, and the nymph, who now had heard 
The doom of Jove, sought the great-hearted 

man, 
Ulysses. Him she found beside the deep, 
Seated alone, with eyes from which the tears 
"Were never dried, for now no more the nymph 
Delighted him ; he wasted his sweet life 
In yearning for his home. iNight after night 
He slept constrained within the hollow cave, 
The unwilling by the fond, and, day by day, 
He sat upon the rocks that edged the shore, 
And in continual weeping and in sighs 



161 



And yain repinings, wore tlie liours away, 
Gazing through tears upon the barren deep. 
The glorious goddess stood by him and spoke : 
" Unhappy ! sit no longer sorrowing here, 
^NTor waste life thus. Lo ! I most willingly 
Dismiss thee hence. Else, hew down trees, 

and bind 
Their trunks, with brazen clamps, into a raft. 
And fasten planks above, a lofty floor. 
That it may bear thee o'er the dark blue deep. 
Bread will I put on board, water, and wine, 
Eed wine, that cheers the heart, and wrap thee 

well 
In garments, and send after *thee the wind. 
That safely thou attain thy native shore ; 
If so the gods permit thee, who abide 
In the broad heaven above, and better know 
By far than I, and far more wisely judge." 
Ulysses, the great sufferer, as she spoke. 
Shuddered, and thus with winged words re- 
plied : 



162 POEMS. 

" Some other purpose than to send me home 
Is in thy heart, oh goddess, bidding me 
To cross this frightful sea upon a raft, 
The perilous sea, where never even ships 
Pass with their rapid keels, though Jove bestow 
The wind that glads the seaman. E'ay, 1 climb 
No raft, against thy wish, unless thou swear 
The great oath of the gods, that thou, in this, 
Dost meditate no other harm to me." 

He spake ; Calypso, glorious goddess, 

smiled, 
And smoothed his forehead with her hand, and 

said : 
'' Perverse ! and slow to see where guile is 

not! 
How could thy heart permit thee thus to speak ? 
Now bear me witness. Earth, and ye broad 

Heavens 
Above us, and ye waters of the Styx 
That flow beneath us, mightiest oath of all, 
And most revered by all the blessed gods, 



That I design no other harm to thee ; 
But that I plan for thee and counsel thee 
What I would do were I in need like thine. 
I bear a juster mind ; my bosom holds 
A pitying heart, and not a heart of steel." 
Thus haying said, the glorious goddess 

moved 
Away with hasty steps, and where she trod 
He followed, till they reached the vaulted cave, 
The goddess and the hero. There he took 
The seat whence Hermes had just risen. The 

nymph 
Brought forth whatever mortals eat and drink 
To set before him. She, right opposite 
To that of great Ulysses, took her seat. 
Ambrosia there her maidens laid, and there 
Poured nectar. Both put forth their hands, 

and took 
The ready viands, till at length the calls 
Of hunger and of thirst were satisfied ; 
Calypso, glorious goddess, then began : 



164 POEMS. 

" Son of Laertes, man of many wiles. 
High-born Ulysses ! Thus wilt thou depart 
Home to thy native country ? Then farewell ; 
But, couldst thou know the sufferings Fate or- 
dains 
For thee ere yet thou landest on its shore, 
Thou wouldst remain to keep this home with 

me, 
And be immortal, strong as is thy wish 
To see thy wife — a wish that, day by day, 
Possesses thee. I cannot deem myself 
In form or face less beautiful than she. 
For never with immortals can the race 
Of mortal dames in form or face compare." 

Ulysses, the sagacious, answered her, 
" Bear with me, gracious goddess ; well I know 
All thou couldst say. The sage Penelope 
In feature and in stature comes not nigh 
To thee ; for she is mortal, deathless thou 
And ever young ; yet, day by day, I long 
To be at home once more, and pine to see 



The hour of my return. Even though some 

god 
Smite me on the black ocean, I shall bear 
The stroke, for in my bosom dwells a mind 
Patient of suffering ; much have I endured, 
And much survived, in tempests on the deep. 
And in the battle ; let this happen too." 

He spoke ; the sun went down ; the night 

came on. 
And now the twain withdrew to a recess 
Deep in the vaulted cave, where, side by side. 
They took their rest. But when the child of 

dawn, 
Aurora, rosy- fingered, looked abroad, 
Ulysses put his vest and mantle on ; 
The nymph too, in a robe of silver white, 
Ample, and delicate, and beautiful. 
Arrayed herself, and round about her loins 
Wound a fair golden girdle, drew a veil 
Over her head, and planned to send away 
Magnanimous Ulysses. She bestowed 



166 POEMS. 

A heavy axe, of steel, and double edged, 

Well fitted to tlie hand, the handle wrought 

Of olive wood, firm set, and beautiful. 

A polished adze she gave him next, and led 

The wa J to a far corner of the isle, 

"Where lofty trees, alders and poplars, stood. 

And firs that reached the clouds, sapless and dry 

Long since, and titter thus to ride the waves. 

Then, having shown where grew the tallest 

trees. 
Calypso, glorious goddess, sought her home. 
Trees then he felled, and soon the task was 

done. 
Twenty in all he brought to earth, and squared 
Their trunks with the sharp steel, and carefully 
He smoothed their sides, and wrought them by 

a line. 
Calypso, gracious goddess, having brought 
Wimbles, he bored the beams, and, fitting them 
Together, made them fast with nails and 

clamps. 



FIFTH BOOK OF HOMER's ODYSSEY. 167 

As when some builder, skilful in Ms art, 
Frames, for a sMp of burden, the broad keel. 
Such ample breadth Uljsses gave the raft. 
Upon the massy beams he reared a deck, 
And floored it with long planks from end to 

end. 
On this a mast he raised, and to the mast 
Fitted a yard ; he shaped a rudder neat, 
To guide the raft along her com-se, and round 
With woven work of willow boughs he fenced 
Her sides against the dashings of the sea. 
Calypso, gracious goddess, brought him store 
Of canvas, which he fitly shaped to sails, 
And, rigging her with cords, and ropes, and 

stays. 
Heaved her with levers into the great deep. 
'Twas the fourth day ; his labors now were 

done. 
And, on the fifth, the goddess from her isle 
Dismissed him, newly from the bath, arrayed 
In garments given by her, that shed perfumes. 



168 POEMS. 

A skin of dark red wine slie put on board, 

A larger one of water, and for food 

A basket, stored with viands such, as please 

The appetite. A friendly wind and soft 

She sent before. The great Ulysses spread 

His canvas joyfully, to catch the breeze. 

And sat and guided with nice care the helm, 

Gazing with fixed eye on the Pleiades, 

Bootes setting late, and the Great Bear, 

By others called the "Wain, which, wheeling 

round. 
Looks ever toward Orion, and alone 
Dips not into the waters of the deep. 
For so Calypso, glorious goddess, bade 
That, on his ocean journey, he should keep 
That constellation ever on his left. 
"Now seventeen days were in the voyage past, 
And on the eighteenth shadowy heights ap- 
peared. 
The nearest point of the Pheacian land. 
Lying on the dark ocean like a shield. 



But mighty ITeptunej coming from among 
Tlie Ethiopians, saw him. Far away 
He saw, from mountain heights of Solyma, 
The voyager, and burned with fiercer wrath, 
And shook his head, and said within himself: 

" Strange ! now I see the gods have new 
designs 
For this Ulysses, formed while I was yet 
In Ethiopia. He draws near the land 
Of the Pheacians, where it is decreed 
He shall o'erpass the boundary of his woes ; 
But first, I think, he will have much to bear." 

He spoke, and round about him called the 
clouds 
And roused the ocean, wielding in his hand 
The trident, summoned all the hurricanes 
Of all the winds, and covered earth and sky 
At once with mists, while from above, the night 
Fell suddenly. The east wind and the south 
Eushed forth at once, with the strong-blowing 
west, 
8 



170 POEMS. 

And the clear north rolled up his mighty waves. 
Ulysses trembled in his knees and heart. 
And thus to his great sonl, lamenting, said : 

" What will become of me ? nnhappy man ! 
I fear that all the goddess said was true, 
Foretelling what disasters should o'ertake 
My voyage, ere I reach my native land. 
'Now are her words fulfilled. How Jupiter 
Wraps the great heaven in clouds and stirs the 

deep 
To tumult ! Wilder grow the hurricanes 
Of all the winds, and now my fate is sure. 
Thrice happy, four times happy they, who fell 
On Troy's wide field, warring for Atreus' sons. 
Oh, had I met my fate and perished there. 
That very day on which the Trojan host, 
Aromid the dead Achilles, hurled at me 
Their brazen javelins ; I had then received 
Due burial and great glory with the Greeks ; 
Now must I die a miserable death." 

As thus he spoke, upon him, from on high, 



171 



A huge and frightful billow broke ; it whirled 
The raft around, and far from it he fell. 
His hands let go the rudder ; a fierce rush 
Of all the winds together snapped in twain 
The mast ; far off the yard and canvas flew 
Into the deep ; the billow held him long 
Beneath the waters, and he strove in vain 
Quickly to rise to air from that huge swell 
Of ocean, for the garments weighed him down 
Which fair Calypso gave him. But, at length, 
Emerging, he rejected from his throat 
The bitter brine that down his forehead 

streamed. 
Even then, though hopeless with dismay, his 

thought 
Was on the raft, and, struggling through the 

waves. 
He seized it, sprang on board, and seated there 
Escaped the threatened death. Still to and fro 
The rolling billows drove it. As the wind 
In autiman sweeps the thistles o'er the field, 



172 POEMS. 

Clinging together, so the blasts of heaven 
Hither and thither drove it o'er the sea. 
And now the south wind flung it to the north 
To buffet ; now the east wind to the west. 

Ino Leucothea saw him clinging there, 
The delicate-footed child of Cadmus, once 
A mortal, speaking with a mortal voice. 
Though now, within the ocean-gulfs, she shares 
The honors of the gods. With pitj she 
Beheld Ulysses struggling thus distressed, 
And, rising from the abyss below, in form 
A cormorant, the sea-nymph took her perch 
On the well-banded raft, and thus she said : 

" Ah, luckless man, how hast thou angered 
thus 
Earth-shaking Neptune, that he visits thee 
"With these disasters ? Yet he cannot take, 
Although he seek it earnestly, thy life. 
!N"ow do my bidding, for thou seemest wise. 
Laying aside thy garments, let the raft 
Drift with the winds, while thou, by strength 
of arm, 



173 



Makest thy way in swimming to the land 
Of the Pheacians, where thy safety lies. 
Receive this veil and bind its heavenly woof 
Beneath thy breast, and have no further fear 
Of hardship or of danger. But, as soon 
As thou shalt touch the island, take it off, 
And tui*n away thy face, and fling it far 
From where thou standest, into the black deep." 

The goddess gave the veil as thus she spoke, 
And to the tossing deep went down, in form 
A cormorant ; the black wave covered her. 
But still Ulysses, mighty sufferer. 
Pondered, and thus to his great soul he said : 

" Ah me ! perhaps some god is planning 
here 
Some other fraud against me, bidding me 
Forsake my raft. I will not yet obey. 
For still far off I see the land in which 
'Tis said my refuge lies. This will I do. 
For this seems wisest. While the fastenings last 
That hold these timbers, I will keep my place 



174: POEMS. 

And bide the tempest here. But when the 

waves 
Shall dash my raft in pieces, I will swim, 
Eor nothing better will remain to do." 

As he revolved this purpose in his mind. 
Earth-shaking I^eptnne sent a mighty wave, 
Horrid, and hnge, and high, and where he sat 
It smote him. As a violent wind uplifts 
The dry chaff heaped upon a threshing floor. 
And sends it scattered through the air abroad. 
So did that wave fling loose the ponderous 

beams. 
To one of these, Ulysses, clinging fast, 
Bestrode it, like a horseman on his steed ; 
And now he took the garments off, bestowed 
By fair Calypso, binding round his breast 
The veil, and forward plunged into the deep, 
"With palms outspread, prepared to swim. 

Meanwhile, 
Neptune beheld him, l^eptune, mighty king, 
And shook his head, and said within himself, 



175 



" Go thus, and, laden with mischances, 

roam 
The waters, till thou come among the race 
Cherished by Jupiter ; but well I deem 
Thou wilt not find thy share of suffering light.'- 
Thus having spoke, he urged his coursers on, 
With their fair flowing manes, until he came 
To ^gse, where his glorious palace stands. 
But Pallas, child of Jove, had other 

thoughts. 
She stayed the course of every wind beside, 
And bade them rest, and lulled them into 

sleep, 
But summoned the swift north to break the 

waves, 
That so Ulysses, the high-bom, escaped 
From death and from the fates, might be the 

guest 
Of the Pheacians, men who love the sea. 

Two days and nights, among the mighty 

waves 



176 POEMS. 

He floated, offc Ms heart foreboding death, 
But when the briglit-haired Eos had fulfilled 
The thii-d day's course, and all the winds were 

laid, 
And calm was on the watery waste, he saw 
That land was near, as, lifted on the crest 
Of a huge swell, he looked with sharpened 

sight ; 
And as a father's life preserved makes glad 
His children's hearts, when long-time he has 

lain 
Sick, wrung with pain, and wasting by the 

power 
Of some malignant genius, till, at length. 
The gracious gods bestow a welcome cure ; 
So welcome to Ulysses was the sight 
Of woods and fields. By swimming on he 

thought 
To climb and tread the shore, but when he drew 
So near that one who shouted could be heard 
From land, the sound of ocean on the rocks 



177 



Came to his ear, for there huge breakers roared 
And spouted fearfully, and all around 
Was covered with the sea-foam. Haven here 
TVas none for ships, nor sheltering creek, but 

shores 
Beetling from high, and crags and walls of rock. 
Ulysses trembled both in knees and heart. 
And thus, to his great soul, lamenting, said : 
" Now woe is me ! as soon as Jove has 

shown 
Wliat I had little hoped to see, the land. 
And I through all these waves have ploughed 

my way, 
I find no issue from the hoary deep. 
For sharp rocks border it, and all around 
Eoar the wild surges ; slippery cliffs arise 
Close to deep gulfs, and footing there is none, 
Where I might plant my steps and thus escape. 
All effort now were fruitless to resist 
The mighty billow hurrying me away 
To dash me on the pointed rocks. If yet 
8* 



lis POEMS. 

I strive, by swimming furtlier, to descry- 
Some sloping shore or harbor of the isle, 
I fear the tempest, lest it hurl me back. 
Heavily groaning, to the fishy deep. 
Or huge sea monster, from the multitude 
Wliich sovereign Amphitrite feeds, be sent 
Against me by some god, for well I know 
The power who shakes the shores is wroth with 

me." 
While he revolved these doubts within his 

mind 
A huge wave hurled him toward the rugged 

coast. 
Then had his limbs been flayed, and all his 

bones 
Broken at once, had not the blue-eyed maid, 
Min erva, prompted him. Borne toward the rock. 
He clutched it instantly, with both his hands. 
And, panting, clung, till that huge wave rolled 

by, 

And so escaped its fury. Back it came, 



FIFTH BOOK OF HOMEK's ODYSSEY. 179 

And smote him once again, and flung him far 
Seaward. As to the claws of polypus, 
Plucked from its bed, the pebbles thickly cling, 
So flakes of skin, from off his powerful hands, 
"Were left upon the rock. The mighty surge 
O'erwhelmed him; he had perished ere his 

time. 
Hapless Ulysses, but the blue-eyed maid 
Pallas, informed his mind with wisdom. 

Straight 
Emerging from the wave that shoreward rolled, 
He swam along the coast and eyed it well. 
In hope of sloping beach or sheltered creek. 
But when, in swimming, he had reached the 

mouth 
Of a soft-flowing river, here appeared 
The spot he wished for, smooth, without a rock. 
And here was shelter from the wind. He felt 
The current's flow, and thus devoutly prayed : 
" Hear me, oh sovereign power, whoe'er 

thou art I 



180 POEMS. 

To thee, the long desired, I- come. I seek 
Escape from Neptune's threatenings on the sea. 
The deathless gods respect the prayer of him 
Who looks to them for help, a fugitive, 
As I am now, when to thy stream I come, 
And to thy knees, from many a hardship past. 
Oh thou that here art ruler, I declare 
Myself thy suppliant ; be thou merciful." 

He spoke ; the river stayed his current, 

checked 
The billows, smoothed them to a calm, and 

gave 
The swimmer a safe landing at his mouth. 
Then dropped his knees and sinewy arms, at 

once 
Unstrung, for faint with struggling was his 

heart. 
His body was all swoln ; the brine gushed 

forth 
From mouth and nostrils ; all unnerved he lay, 
Breathless and speechless ; utter weariness 



181 



O'ermastered liim. But when he breathed 

again, 
And his flown senses had returned, he loosed 
The veil that Ino gave him from his breast, 
And to the salt flood cast it. A great wave 
Bore it far down the stream ; the goddess there 
In her own hands received it. He, meanwhile, 
Withdrawing from the brink, lay down among 
The reeds, and kissed the harvest-bearing earth. 
And thus to his great soul, lamenting, said : 
" Ah me ! what must I sufier more ! what 

jet 
"Will happen to me ? If, b j the river's side, 
I pass the unfriendly watches of the night, 
The cruel cold and dews that steep the bank 
May, in this weakness, end me utterly 
For chilly blows the river air at dawn. 
But should I climb this hill, to sleep within 
The shadowy wood, among thick shrubs, if cold 
And weariness allow me, then I fear. 
That, while the pleasant slumbers o'er me steal, 
I may become the prey of savage beasts." 



182 POEMS. 

Yetj as lie longer pondered this seemed 

best. 
He rose and sought the wood, and found it near 
The water, on a height, o'erlooking far 
The region round. Between two shrubs, that 

sprung 
Both from one spot, he entered,— olive trees, 
One wild, one fruitful. The damp-blowing 

wind 
ITe'er pierced then* covert ; never blazing sun 
Darted his beams within, nor pelting shower 
Beat through, so closely intertwined they grew. 
Here entering, Ulysses heaped a bed 
Of leaves with his own hands ; he made it 

broad 
And high, for thick the leaves had fallen 

around. 
Two men and three, in that abundant store. 
Might bide the winter storm, though keen the 

cold. 
Ulysses, the great sufferer, on his couch 



Looked and rejoiced, and placed himself with- 
in, 
And heaped the leaves high o'er him and 
around. 
As one who, dwelling in the distant fields, 
Without a neighbor near him, hides a brand 
In the dark ashes, keeping carefully 
The seeds of fire alive, lest he, perforce. 
To light his hearth must bring them from afar ; 
So did Ulysses, in that pile of leaves, 
Bury himself, while Pallas o'er his eyes 
Poured sleep and closed his lids, that he might 

take. 
After his painful toils, the fitting rest. 

Revised November 15, 1862. 



THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 

ALice. — One of your old world stories, Uncle 
Jolm, 
Such as you tell us by the winter fire, 
Till we all wonder it has grown so late. 

TJnde John, — The story of the witch that 
ground to death 
Two children in her mill, or will you have 
The tale of Goody Cutpurse ? 

Alice. — Nay now, nay ; 

Those stories are too childish. Uncle John, 
Too childish even for little Willy here, 
And I am older, two good years, than he ; 



THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 185 

No, let US have a tale of elves tliat ride, 

Bj night, with jingling reins, or gnomes of the 

mine. 
Or water-faii'ies, such as you know how 
To spin, till Willy's eyes forget to wink. 
And good Aunt Mary, busy as she is, 
Lays down her knitting. 

Uncle John. — Listen to me, then. 
'Twas in the olden time, long, long ago. 
And long before the great oak at our door 
Was yet an acorn, on a mountain's side 
Lived, with his wife, a cottager. They dwelt 
Beside a glen and near a dashing brook, 
A pleasant spot in spring, where first the wren 
Was heard to chatter, and, among the grass. 
Flowers opened earliest; but, when winter 

came. 
That little brook was fringed with other flow- 
ers, — 
White flowers, with crystal leaf and stem, that 
grew 



186 POEMS. 

In clear !N"ovember nights. And, later still, 
That mountain glen was filled with drifted 

snows 
From side to side, that one might walk across, 
"While, many a fathom deep, below, the brook 
Sang to itself, and leaped and trotted on 
Unfrozen, o'er its pebbles, toward the vale. 

Alice. — A mountain's side, you said; the 
Alps, perhaps. 
Or our own Alleghanies. 

TJnde John. — !N^ot so fast, 

My young geographer, for then the Alps, 
"With their broad pastures, haply were untrod 
Of herdsman's foot, and never human voice 
Had sounded in the woods that overhang 
Our Alleghany's streams. I think it was 
Upon the slopes of the great Caucasus, 
Or where the rivulets of Ararat 
Seek the Armenian vales. That mountain rose 
So high, that, on its top, the winter snow 
Was never melted, and the cottagers 



THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF TITE SNOW. 187 

Among the summer blossoms, far below, 

Saw its white peaks in August from their door. 

One little maiden, in that cottage home, 
Dwelt with her parents, light of heart and limb, 
Bright, restless, thoughtless, flitting here and 

there, 
Like sunshine on the uneasy ocean waves, 
And sometimes she forgot what she was bid, 
As Alice does. 

Alice, — Or Willy, quite as oft. 

Uncle John, — But you are older, Alice, two 

good years, 
And should be wiser. Eva was the name 
Of this young maiden, now twelve summers 

old. 
Now you must know that, in those early 

times. 
When autumn days grew pale, there came a 

troop 
Of childlike forms from that cold mountain 

top; 



188 POEMS. 

With trailing garments tliroiigli the air they 

came. 
Or walked the ground with girded loins, and 

threw 
Spangles of silvery frost upon the grass, 
And edged the brook with glistening parapets. 
And built it crystal bridges, touched the pool, 
And turned its face to glass, or, rising thence, 
They shook, from their full laps, the soft, light 

snow, 
And buried the great earth, as autumn winds 
Bury the forest floor in heaps of leaves. 

A beautiful race were they, with baby brows, 
And fair, bright locks, and voices like the sound 
Of steps on the crisp snow, in which they 

talked 
With man, as friend with friend. A merry 

sight 
It was, when, crowding round the traveller. 
They smote him with their heaviest snow flakes, 

flung 



THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 189 

Needles of frost in liandfuls at his cheeks, 
And, of the light wreaths of his smoking breath, 
"Wove a white fringe for his brown beard, and 

laughed 
Their slender langh to see him wink and grin 
And make grim faces as he floundered on. 
But, when the spring came on, what terror 

reigned 
Among these Little People of the Snow ! 
To them the sun's warm beams were shafts of 

fire, 
And the soft south wind was the wind of death. 
Away they flew, all with a pretty scowl 
Upon their childish faces, to the north, 
Or scampered upward to the mountain's top. 
And there defied their enemy, the Spring ; 
Skipping and dancing on the frozen peaks, 
And moulding little snow-balls in their palms, 
And rolling them, to crush her flowers below, 
Down the steep snow-fields. 

Alice. — That, too, must have been 
A merry sight to look at. 



190 roE3is. 

Uncle John, — You are right, 
But I must speak of graver matters now. 

Mid-winter was the time, and Eva stood, 
Within the cottage, all prepared to dare 
The outer cold, with ample furrj robe 
Close belted round her waist, and boots of fur, 
And a broad kerchief, which her mother's 

hand 
Had closely drawn about her ruddy cheek. 
"!N"ow, stay not long abroad," said the good 

dame, 
" For sharp is the outer air, and, mark me well, 
Go not upon the snow beyond the spot 
Where the great linden bounds the neighboring 

field." 
The little maiden promised, and went forth, 
And climbed the rounded snow-swells firm with 

frost 
Beneath her feet, and slid, with balancing arms, 
Into the hollows. Once, as up a drift 
She slowly rose, before her, in the Avay, 



THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 191 

Slie saw a little creature lily-cheeked, 

With flowing flaxen locks, and faint bine eyes, 

That gleamed like ice, and robe that only 
seemed 

Of a more shadowy whiteness than her cheek. 

On a smooth bank she sat. 
Alice. — She must have been 

One of your Little People of the Snow. 

Unole John, — She was so, and, as Eva now 
drew near, 

Tlie tiny creature bounded from her seat ; 

" And come," she said, " my pretty friend ; to- 
day 

We will be playmates. I have watched thee 
long. 

And seen how well thou lov'st to walk these 
drifts, 

And scoop their fair sides into little cells. 

And carve them with quaint figures, huge- 
limbed men, 

Lions, and griffins. We will have, to-day. 



192 POEMS. 

A merry ramble over these bright fields, 
And thou sbalt see what thou liast never seen." 
On went the pair, until they reached the 

bound 
Where the great linden stood, set deep in snow. 
Up to the lower branches. " Here we stop," 
Said Eva, " for my mother has my word 
That I will go no further than this tree." 
Then the snow-maiden laughed ; " And what is 

this ? 
This fear of the pure snow, the innocent snow. 
That never harmed aught living ? Thou may'st 

roam 
For leagues beyond this garden, and return 
In safety ; here the grim wolf never prowls, 
And here the eagle of our mountain crags 
Preys not in winter. I will show the way 
And bring thee safely home. Thy mother, 

sure, 
Counselled thee thus because thou hadst no 

guide." 



THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 193 

By such smootli words was Eva won to 
break 
Her promise, and went on with her new friend, 
Over the glistening snow and down a bank 
TV here a white shelf, wrought by the eddying 

wind, 
Like to a billow's crest in the great sea, 
Cui'tained an opening. " Look, we enter here." 
And straight, beneath the fair o'erhanging 

fold, 
Entered the little pair that hill of snow. 
Walking along a passage with white walls. 
And a white vault above where snow-stars 

shed 
A wintry twilight. Eva moved in awe. 
And held her peace, but the snow-maiden 

smiled, 
And talked and tripped along, as, down the 

way. 
Deeper they went into that mountainous 
drift. 
9 



194: POEMS. 

And now tlie white walls widened, and the 
vault 
Swelled upward, like some vast cathedral dome, 
Such as the Florentine, who bore the name 
Of heaven's most potent angel, reared, long 

since. 
Or the unknown builder of that wondrous fane, 
The glory of Burgos. Here a garden lay. 
In which the Little People of the Snow 
"Were wont to take their pastime when their 

tasks 
Upon the mountain's side and in the clouds 
Were ended. Here they taught the silent frost 
To mock, in stem and spray, and leaf and flow- 
er. 
The growths of summer. Here the palm up- 
reared 
Its white columnar trunk and spotless sheaf 
Of plume-like leaves; here cedars, huge as 

those 
Of Lebanon, stretched far their level boughs, 



THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 195 

Yet pale and shadowless ; the sturdy oak 
Stood, with its huge gnarled roots of seeming 

strength, 
Fast anchored in the glistening bank; light 

sprays 
Of myrtle, roses in their bud and bloom. 
Drooped by the winding walks ; yet all seemed 

wrought 
Of stainless alabaster ; up the trees 
Ran the lithe jessamine, with stalk and leaf 
Colorless as her flowers. " Go softly on," 
Said the snow maiden ; " touch not, with thy 

hand. 
The frail creation round thee, and beware 
To sweep it with thy skirts. Now look above. 
How sumptuously these bowers are lighted up 
With shifting gleams that softly come and go. 
These are the northern lights, such as thou 

seest 
In the midwinter nights, cold, wandering 

flames, 



196 POEMS. 

That float, with, our processions, through the 

air; 
And here, within our winter palaces, 
Mimic the glorious daybreak." Then she told 
How, when the wind, in the long winter nights. 
Swept the light snows into the hollow dell, 
She and her comrades guided to its place 
Each wandering flake, and piled them quaintly 

up. 
In shapely colonnade and glistening arch. 
With shadowy aisles between, or bade them 

grow. 
Beneath their little hands, to bowery walks 
In gardens such as these, and, o'er them all. 
Built the broad roof. " But thou hast yet to 

see 
A fairer sight," she said, and led the way 
To where a window of pellucid ice 
Stood in the wall of snow, beside their path. 
"Look, but thou mayst not enter." Eva 

looked, 



THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 197 

And lo ! a glorious hall, from whose high vault 
Stripes of soft light, ruddy, and delicate green. 
And tender blue, flowed downward to the floor 
And far around, as if the aerial hosts. 
That march on high by night, with beamy 

spears. 
And streaming banners, to that place had 

brought 
Their radiant flags to grace a festival. 

And in that hall a joyous multitude 
Of those by whom its glistening walls were 

reared, 
Whirled in a merry dance to silvery sounds. 
That rang from cymbals of transparent ice, 
And ice-cups, quivering to the skilful touch 
Of little fingers. Eound and round they flew. 
As when, in spring, about a chimney top, 
A cloud of twittering swallows, just returned, 
Wheel round and round, and turn and wheel 

again. 
Unwinding their swift track. So rapidly 



198 POEMS. 

Flowed tlie meandering stream of that fair 

dance, 
Beneath tliat dome of light. Bright eyes that 

looked 
Erom nnder lily brows, and gauzy scarfs 
Sparkling like snow-wreaths in the early sun, 
Shot by the window in their mazy whirl. 
And there stood Eva, wondering at the sight 
Of those bright revellers and that graceful 

sweep 
Of motion as they passed her ; — ^long she gazed, 
And listened long to the sweet sounds that 

thrilled 
The frosty air, till now the encroaching cold 
Recalled her to herself. " Too long, too long 
I linger here," she said, and then she sprang 
Into the path, and with a hurried step 
Followed it upward. Ever by her side 
Her little guide kept pace. As on they went 
Eva bemoaned her fault; "What must they 

think — 



THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 199 

The dear ones in the cottage, while so long, 
Hour after hour, I stay without ? I know 
That they will seek me far and near, and weep 
To find me not. How could I, wickedly 
!N"eglect the charge they gave me ? " As she 

spoke. 
The hot tears started to her eyes ; she knelt 
In the mid path. " Father ! forgive this sin ; 
Forgive myseK I cannot " — thus she prayed, 
And rose and hastened onward. When, at 

last. 
They reached the outer air, the clear north 

breathed 
A bitter cold, from which she shrank with 

dread. 
But the snow-maiden bounded as she felt 
The cutting blast, and uttered shouts of joy. 
And skipped, with boundless glee, from drift to 

drift. 
And danced round Eva, as she labored up 
The mounds of snow, " Ah me ! I feel my eyes 



200 POEMS. 

Grow heavy," Eva said; "thej swim with 

sleep ; 
I cannot wallc for ntter weariness, 
And I must rest a moment on this bank. 
But let it not be long." As thus she spoke, 
In half-formed words, she sank on the smooth 

snow, 
With closing lids. Her guide composed the 

robe 
About her limbs, and said, " A pleasant spot 
Is this to slumber in ; on such a couch 
Oft have I slept awaj the winter night. 
And had the sweetest dreams." So Eva slept, 
But slept in death ; for when the power of frost 
Locks up the motions of the living frame. 
The victim passes to the realm of Death 
Through the dim porch of Sleep. The little 

guide, 
"Watching beside her, saw the hues of life 
Fade from the fair smooth brow and rounded 

cheek, 



THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 201 

As fades the crimson from a morning cloud, 
Till thej were white as marble, and the breath 
Had ceased to come and go, yet knew she not 
At first that this was death. But when she 

marked 
How deep the paleness was, how motionless 
That once lithe form, a fear came over her. 
She strove to wake the sleeper, plucked her 

robe, 
And shouted in her ear, but all in vain ; 
The life had passed away from those young 

limbs. 
Then the snow-maiden raised a wailing cry. 
Such as the dweller in some lonely wild. 
Sleepless through all the long December night. 
Hears when the mournful East begins to blow. 
But suddenly was heard the sound of steps, 
Grating on the crisp snow ; the cottagers 
Were seeking Eva ; from afar they saw 
The twain, and hurried toward them. As they 



came, 
9* 



202 POEMS. 

With gentle chidings ready on their lips, 
And marked that deathlike sleep, and heard the 

tale 
Of the snow-maiden, mortal anguish fell 
Upon their hearts, and bitter words of grief 
And blame were uttered : " Cruel, cruel one, 
To tempt our daughter thus, and cruel we. 
Who suffered her to wander forth alone 
In this fierce cold." They lifted the dear 

child, 
Ajid bore her home and chafed her tender 

limbs, 
And strove, by all the simple arts they knew. 
To make the chilled blood move, and win the 

breath 
Back to her bosom ; fruitlessly they strove. 
The little maid was dead. In blank despair 
They stood, and gazed at her who never more 
Should look on them. " Why die we not with 

her?" 
They said ; " without her life is bitterness." 



THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 203 

Now came the funeral day ; the simple folk 
Of all that pastoral region gathered round, 
To share the sorrow of the cottagers. 
They carved a way into the mound of snow 
To the glen's side, and dug a little grave 
In the smooth slope, and, following the bier. 
In long procession from the silent door, 
Chanted a sad and solemn melody. 

" Lay her away to rest within the ground. 
Yea, lay her down whose pure and innocent 

life 
Was spotless as these snows ; for she was 

reared 
In love, and passed in love life's pleasant 

spring. 
And all that now our tenderest love can do 
Is to give burial to her lifeless limbs." 

They paused. A thousand slender voices 
round. 
Like echoes softly flung from rock and hill, 
Took up the strain, and all the hollow air 



204 POEMS. 

Seemed mourning for the dead; for, on that 

day, 
The Little People of the Snow had come, 
From mountain peak, and cloud, and icy hall. 
To Eva's burial. As the murmur died 
The funeral train renewed the solemn chant. 
" Thou, Lord, hast taken her to be with 
Eve, 
"Whose gentle name was given her. Even so, 
For so Thy wisdom saw that it was best 
For her and us. We bring our bleeding hearts, 
And ask the touch of healing from Thy hand. 
As, with submissive tears, we render back 
The lovely and beloved to Him who gave." 
They ceased. Again the plaintive mur- 
mur rose. 
From shadowy skirts of low-hung cloud it 

came. 
And wide white fields, and fir-trees capped 

with snow. 
Shivering to the sad sounds. They sank away 
To silence in the dim-seen distant woods. 



THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 205 

The little grave was closed; tlie funeral 
train 
Departed ; winter wore away ; . the spring 
Steeped, with her quickening rains, the violet 

tufts, 
By fond hands planted where the maiden 

slept. 
But, after Eva's burial, never more 
The Little People of the Snow were seen 
By human eye, nor ever human ear 
Heard from their lips, articulate speech 

again; 
For a decree went forth to cut them off, 
Forever, from communion with mankind. 
The winter clouds, along the mountain-side. 
Rolled downward toward the vale, but no fair 

form 
Leaned from their folds, and, in the icy glens. 
And aged woods, under snow-loaded pines. 
Where once they made their haunt, was emp- 
tiness. 



206 POEMS. 

But ever, when the wintry days drew near, 
Around that little grave, in the long night. 
Frost-wreaths were laid and tufts of silvery 

rime 
In shape like blades and blossoms of the field. 
As one would scatter flowers upon a bier. 



THE POET. 

Thotj, who wouldst wear the name 

Of poet mid thy brethren of mankind, 

And clothe in words of flame 

Thoughts that shall live within the general 
mind! 

Deem not the jframing of a deathless lay 

The pastime of a drowsy summer day. 

But gather all thy powers, 

And wreak them on the verse that thou dost 
weave. 
And in thy lonely hours. 

At silent morning or at wakeful eve, 



208 POEMS. 

While tlie warm current tingles tlirougli thy 

veins, 
Set forth the burning words in fluent strains. 



!N'o smooth array of phrase. 

Artfully sought and ordered though it be, 
Which the cold rhymer lays 

Upon his page with languid industry, 
Can wake the listless pulse to livelier speed, 
Or fill with sudden tears the eyes that read. 



The secret wouldst thou know 

To touch the heart or fire the blood at will ? 
Let thine own eyes o'erflow ; 

Let thy lips quiver with the passionate 
thrill; 
Seize the great thought, ere yet its power be 

past, 
And bind, in words, the fleet emotion fast. 



THE POET. 209 

Then, should thy verse appear 

Halting and harsh, and all unaptly wrought, 
Touch the crude line with fear, 

Save in the moment of impassioned thought ; 
Then summon back the original glow and 

mend 
The strain with rapture that with fii*e was 
penned. 

Yet let no empty gust 

Of passion find an utterance in thy lay, 
A blast that whirls the dust 

Along the howling street and dies away ; 
But feelings of calm power and mighty sweep. 
Like currents journeying through the windless 
deep. 

Seek'st thou, in living lays. 

To limn the beauty of the earth and sky ? 
Before thine inner gaze 

Let all that beauty in clear vision lie ; 



210 POEMS. 

Look on it with exceeding love, and write 
The words inspired by wonder and delight. 

Of tempests wouldst thou sing, 

Or tell of battles — ^make thyself a part 

Of the great tumult ; cling 

To the tossed wreck mth terror in thy heart ; 

Scale, with the assaulting host, the rampart's 
height. 

And sti'ike and struggle in the thickest fight. 

So shalt thou frame a lay 

That haply may endure from age to age. 
And they who read shall say : 

"What witchery hangs upon this poet's page ! 
"What art is his the written spells to find 
That sway from mood to mood the willing 
mind! 



i 



NOTES 



NOTES. 



Page 40. 

THE LOST BIED. 

Eeadees who are acquainted with the Spanish lan- 
guage may not be displeased at seeing the original of this 
little poem : 

EL PAJAEO PEEDIDO. 

Huy6 con vuielo incierto, 

Y de mis ojos ha desparecido, 

Mirad, si, a vuestro huerto, 
Mi pajaro querido, 
Nifias hermosas, por acaso ha huido. 



214 NOTES. 



Sus ojos relucientes 

Son como los del aguila orgullosa ; 
Plumas resplandecientes, 

En la cabeza ariosa, 

Lleva ; j su voz es tiema j armoniosa. 

Mirad, si cnidadoso 

Junto a las flores se escondid en la grama. 
Ese lanrel frondoso 

Mirad, rama per rama, 

Que Q. los laureles y los flores ama. 

Si le hallais, por ventura, 

'No OS enamore su amoroso acento ; 
N'o OS prende su liermosura ; 

Volvedmele al momento ; 

O dejadle, si no, libre en el viento. 

Por que su pico de oro 

Solo en mi mano toma la semilla ; 
Y no enjugar^ el lloro 

Que veis en mi mejilla, 

Hasta encontrar mi profugo avecilla. 



NOTES. 215 

Mi vista se oscurece, 
Si sus qjos no ve, que son mi dia. 

Mi anima desfallece 
Con la melancolia 
De no escucliarle ya su melodia. 

The literature of Spain at the present day has this 
peculiarity, that female writers have, in considerable 
number, entered into competition with the other sex. 
One of the most remarkable of these, as a writer of both 
prose and poetry, is Carolina Coronado de Perry, the au- 
thor of the little poem here given. The poetical litera- 
ture of Spain has felt the influence of the female mind 
in the infusion of a certain delicacy and tenderness, and 
the more frequent choice of subjects which interest the 
domestic aflfections. Concerning the verses of the lady 
already mentioned, Don Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch, 
one of the most accomplished Spanish critics of the pres- 
ent day, and himself a successful dramatic writer, says : 

" If Carolina Coronado had, through modesty, sent 
her productions from Estremadura to Madrid under the 
name of a person of the other sex, it would still have 
been difficult for intelligent readers to persuade them- 
selves that they were written by a man, or at least, con- 



216 NOTES. 

sidering their graceful sweetness, purity of tone, simplicity 
of conception, trevity of development, and delicate and 
particular choice of subject, we should be constrained to 
attribute them to one yet in his early youth, whom the 
imagination would represent as ingenuous, innocent and 
gay, who had scarce ever wandered beyond the flowery 
grove or pleasant valley where his cradle was rocked, 
and where he had been lulled to sleep by the sweetest 
songs of Francisco de la Torre, Garcilaso and Melendez." 
The author of the Pajaro Perdido^ according to a me- 
moir of her by Angel Fernandez de los Kios, was born 
at Almendralejo, in Estremadura, in 1823. At the age 
of nine years she began to steal from sleep, after a day 
passed in various lessons, and in domestic occupations, 
several hours every night to read the poets of her coun- 
try, and other books belonging to the library of the 
household, among which is mentioned as a proof of 
her vehement love of reading, the Critical History of 
Spain, by the Abbe Masuden, " and other works equally 
dry and prolix." She was afterwards sent to Badajoz, 
where she received the best education which the state of 
the country, then on fire with a civil war, would admit. 
Here the intensity of her application to her studies 
caused a severe malady, which has frequently recurred 



NOTES. 217 

in after life. At the age of thirteen years she wrote a 
poem entitled La Pdlma^ which the author of her biog- 
raphy declares to be worthy of Herrera, and which led 
Espronceda, a poet of Estremadura, a man of genius, and 
the author of several translations from Byron, whom he 
resembled both in mental and personal characteristics, to 
address her an eulogistic sonnet. In 1843, when she was 
but twenty years old, a volume of her poems was pub- 
lished at Madrid, in which were included both that enti- 
tled La Palma^ and the one I have given in this note. 
To this volume Hartzenbusch, in his admiration for her 
genius, prefaced an introduction. 

The task of writing verses in Spanish is not difScult. 
Rhymes are readily found, and the language is easily 
moulded into metrical forms. Those who have distin- 
guished themselves in this literature have generally made 
their first essays in verse. What is remarkable enough, the 
men who afterwards figure in political life mostly begin 
their career as the authors of madrigals. A poem intro- 
duces the future statesman to the public, as a speech at a 
popular meeting introduces the candidate for political dis- 
tinction in this country. I have heard of but one of the 
eminent Spanish politicians of the present time, who 
made a boast that he was innocent of poetry, and if all 
10 



218 NOTES. 

that his enemies say of him be trne, it would have been 
well both for his country and his own fame, if he had 
been equally innocent of corrupt practices. The compo- 
sitions of Carolina Coronado, even her earliest, do not 
deserve to be classed with the productions of which we 
have spoken, and which are simply the effect of inclina- 
tion and facility. They possess the mens divinior. 

In 1852 a collection of the poems of Carolina Coro- 
nado was brought out at Madrid, including those which 
were first published. The subjects are of larger variety 
than those which prompted her earlier productions; 
some of them are of a religious cast, others refer to po- 
litical matters. One of them, which appears among the 
"Improvisations," is an energetic protest against erect- 
ing a new amphitheatre for bull-fights. The spirit of all 
her poetry is humane and friendly to the best interests of 
mankind. 

Her writings in prose must not be overlooked. 
Among them is a novel entitled Sigea, founded on the 
adventures of Camoens ; another entitled Jorilla, a beau- 
tiful story, full of pictures of rural life in Estremadura, 
which deserves, if it could find a competent translator, to 
be transferred to our language. Besides these there are 
two other novels from her pen, Paquita and La Lvz del 



NOTES. 219 

Tejo. A few years since appeared, in a Madrid periodi- 
cal, the Semancmo^ a series of letters written by her, giv- 
ing an account of the impressions received in a journey 
from the Tagus to the Ehine, including a visit to Eng- 
land. Among the subjects on which she has written, is 
the idea, still warmly cherished in Spain, of uniting the 
entire peninsula under one government. In an ably con- 
ducted journal of Madrid, she has given accounts of the 
poetesses of Spain, her contemporaries, with extracts 
from their writings, and a kindly estimate of their re- 
spective merits. 

Her biographer speaks of her activity and efficiency 
in charitable enterprises, her interest in the cause of 
education, her visits to the primary schools of Madrid, 
encouraging and rewarding the pupils, and her patron- 
age of the esciLcla de parvulos, or infant school, at Bada- 
joz, established by a society in that city, with the design 
of improving the education of the laboring class. 

It must have been not long after the publication of 
her poems, in 1852, that Carolina Ooronado became the 
wife of an American gentlemau, Mr. Horatio J. Perry, at 
one time our Secretary of Legation at the Court of Ma- 
drid, afterwards our Charge d' Affaires, and now, in 1863, 
again Secretary of Legation. Amidst the duties of a wife 



220 NOTES. 

and mother, which she fulfils with exemplary fidelity and 
grace, she has not either forgotten or forsaken the lite- 
rary pursuits which have given her so high a reputation. 



THE EUINS OF ITALIOA. 

The poems of the Spanish author, Francisco de Eioja, 
who lived in the first half of the seventeenth century, are 
few in numher, but much esteemed. His ode on the 
Kuins of Italica is one of the most admired of these, but 
in the only collection of his poems which I have seen, it 
is said that the concluding stanza, in the original copy, 
was deemed so little worthy of the rest that it was pur- 
posely omitted in the publication. Italica was a city 
founded by the Eomans in the South of Spain, the re- 
mains of which are stiU an object of interest. 

Page 118. 

SELLA. 

Sella is the name given by the Yulgate to one of the 
wives of Lamech, mentioned in the fourth chapter of 
the Book of Genesis, and called ZiUah in the common 
English version of the Bible. 



NOTES. 221 

Page 150. 

HOMKE's ODYSSEY, BOOK V., TEANSLATED. 

It may be esteemed presumptuous in the author of 
this volume to attempt a translation of any part of 
Homer in blank verse after that of Oowper. It has al- 
ways seemed to him, however, that Cowper's version 
had very great defects. The style of Homer is simple, 
and he has been praised for fire and rapidity of narra- 
tive. Does any body find these qualities in Cowper's 
Homer? If Cowper had rendered him into such English 
as he employed in his "Task," there would be no reason 
to complain ; but in translating Homer he seems to have 
thought it necessary to use a different style from that of 
his original works. Almost every sentence is stiffened by 
some clumsy inversion ; stately phrases are used when 
simpler ones were at hand, and would have ren- 
dered the meaning of the original better. The entire 
version has the appearance of being hammered out with 
great labor, and as a whole it is cold and constrained ; 
scarce anything seems spontaneous ; it is only now and 
then that the translator has caught the fervor of his 
author. Homer, of course, wrote in idiomatic Greek, 
and, in order to produce either a true copy of the original 



222 NOTES. 

or an agreeable poem, should have been translated into 
idiomatic English. 

I am almost ashamed, after this censure of an author, 
whom, in the main, I admire so much as I do Cowi^er, 
to refer to my own translation of the Fifth Book of the 
Odyssey. I desire barely to say that I have endeavored 
to give the verses of the old Greek poet at least a simpler 
presentation in English, and one more conformable to 
the genius of our language. 



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